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Day  after  day  the  trail  herd  plodded  slowly  to  the  North. 
Frontispiece.     Seepage  13. 


COW-COUNTRY 


BY 

B.  M.  BOWER 


WITH  FRONTISPIECE 

BY 

FRANK  TENNY  JOHNSON 


BOSTON 
LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY 

1921 


Copyright^  ig2i, 
By  Little,  Brown,  and  Company. 


All  rights  reserved 
Published  January,  1921 


Set  up  and  electrotjrped  by  J.  S.  Gushing  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 


I  An  Ambitious  Man-Child  Was  Buddy 

II  The  Trail  Herd  . 

III  Some  Indian  Lore 

IV  Buddy  Gives  Warning 
V  Buddy  Runs  True  to  Type 

VI  The  Young  Eagle  Must  Fly 

Vn  Bud  Fllps  a  Coin  with  Fate 

VIII  The  Muleshoe 

IX  Little  Lost  .... 

X  Bud  Meets  the  Woman 

XI  Guile  against  the  Wily     .  • 

XII  Sport  o'  Kings     . 

XIII  The  Sinks     .        .        . 

XrV  Even  Mushrooms  Help 

XV  Why  Bud  Missed  a  Dance 

XVI  While  the  Going  's  Good   . 

XVII  Guardian  Angels  Are  Riding  " 

XVIII  The  Catrock  Gang      . 

XIX  Bud  Rides  Through  Catrock 

Marian  .... 

XX  "Pick  Your  Footing!" 

XXI  Trails  End    .... 


Point" 


AND 


Loses 


Mi8049 


COW-COUNTRY 

CHAPTER   ONE 
An  Ambitious  Man-Child  Was  Buddy 

In  hot  mid  afternoon  when  the  acrid,  gray  dust- 
cloud  kicked  up  by  the  Hstless  plodding  of  eight  thou- 
sand cloven  hoofs  formed  the  only  blot  on  the  hard 
blue  above  the  Staked  Plains,  an  ox  stumbled  and  fell 
awkwardly  under  his  yoke,  and  refused  to  scramble  up 
when  his  negro  driver  shouted  and  prodded  him  with 
the  end  of  ,a  willow  gad. 

"  Call  your  master,  Ezra,"  directed  a  quiet  woman- 
voice  gone  weary  and  toneless  with  the  heat  and  two 
restless  children.  "  Don't  beat  the  poor  brute.  He 
can't  go  any  farther  and  carry  the  yoke,  much  less  pull 
the  wagon." 

Ezra  dropped  the  gad  and  stepped  upon  the  wagon 
tongue  where  he  might  squint  into  the  dust  cloud  and 
decide  which  gray,  plodding  horseman  alongside  the 
herd  was  Robert  Birnie.  Far  across  the  sluggish  river 
of  grimy  backs,  a  horse  threw  up  its  head  with  a  pecu- 
liar sidelong  motion,  and  Ezra's  eyes  lightened  with 
recognition.  That  was  the  colt.  Rattler,  chafing 
against  the  slow  pace  he  must  keep.  Hands  cupped 
around  big,   chocolate-colored  lips  and  big,  yellow- 


Cow-Country 


white  teeth;  'Ezrix  whoo^e^ed  the  signal  that  called  the 
nearest  riders  to  the  wagori  that  held  the  boss's  family. 

Bob  Bifnie  and  another  man  turned  and  came  trot- 
ting back,  and  at  the  call  a  scrambling  youngster  peered 
over  his  mother's  shoulder  in  the  forward  opening  of 
the  prairie  schooner. 

"  O-oh,  Dulcie !     We  gonna  git  a  wile  cow  agin !  " 

Dulcie  was  asleep  and  did  not  answer,  and  the 
woman  in  the  slat  sun-bonnet  pushed  back  with  her  el- 
bow the  eager,  squirming  body  of  her  eldest.  "  Stay 
in  the  wagon,  Buddy.  Mustn't  get  down  amongst 
the  oxen.  One  might  kick  you.  Lie  down  and  take 
a  nap  with  sister.  When  you  waken  it  will  be  nice  and 
cool  again." 

"  Not  s'eepy !  "  objected  Buddy  for  the  twentieth 
time  in  the  past  two  hours.  But  he  crawled  back,  and 
his  mother,  relieved  of  his  restless  presence,  leaned 
forward  to  watch  the  approach  of  her  husband  and  the 
cowboy.  This  was  the  second  time  in  the  past  two 
days  that  an  ox  had  fallen  exhausted,  and  her  eyes 
showed  a  trace  of  anxiety.  With  the  feed  so  poor  and 
the  water  so  scarce,  it  seemed  as  though  the  heavy 
wagon,  loaded  with  a  few  household  idols  too  dear  to 
leave  behind,  a  camp  outfit  and  the  necessary  clothing 
and  bedding  for  a  woman  and  two  children,  was  going 
to  be  a  real  handicap  on  the  drive. 

"  Robert,  if  we  had  another  wagon,  I  could  drive  it 
and  make  the  load  less  for  these  four  oxen,"  she  sug- 
gested when  her  husband  came  up.  "A  lighter  wagon, 
perhaps  with  one  team  of  strong  horses,  or  even  with  a 
yoke  of  oxen,  I  could  drive  well  enough,  and  relieve 
these  poor  brutes."  She  pushed  back  her  sun-bonnet 
and  with  it  a  mass  of  red-brown  hair  that  curled 


Ambitious   Child   Was   Buddy      3 

damply  on   her   forehead,   and   smiled   disarmingly. 
"  Buddy  would  be  the  happiest  baby  boy  alive  if  I 
could  let  him  drive  now  and  then!  "  she  added  humor- 
ously. 

"  Can't  make  a  wagon  and  an  extra  yoke  of  oxan 
out  of  this  cactus  patch,"  Bob  Birnie  grinned  good- 
humoredly.  "  Not  even  to  tickle  Buddy.  I  '11  see 
what  I  can  do  when  we  reach  Olathe.  But  you  won't 
have  to  take  a  man's  place  and  drive,  Lassie."  He 
took  the  cup  of  water  she  drew  from  a  keg  and  prof- 
fered —  water  was  precious  on  the  Staked  Plains,  that 
season  —  and  his  eyes  dwelt  on  her  fondly  while  he 
dr^nk.  Then,  giving  her  hand  a  squeeze  when  he  re- 
turned the  cup,  he  rode  back  to  scan  the  herd  for  an 
animal  big  enough  and  well-conditioned  enough  to  sup- 
plant the  worn-out  ox. 

"  Aren't  you  thirsty,  Frank  Davis?  I  think  a  cup 
of  water  will  do  you  good,"  she  called  out  to  the  cow- 
boy, who  had  dismounted  to  tighten  his  forward  cinch 
in  expectation  of  having  to  use  his  rope. 

The  cowboy  dropped  stirrup  from  saddle  horn  and 
came  forward  stiff-leggedly,  leading  his  horse.  His 
sun-baked  face,  grimed  with  the  dust  of  the  herd,  was 
aglow  with  heat,  and  his  eyes  showed  gratitude.  A 
cup  of  water  from  the  hand  of  the  boss's  wife  was 
worth  a  gallon  from  the  barrel  slip-slopping  along  in 
the  lurching  chuck-wagon. 

"  How  's  the  kids  makin'  out,  Mis*  Birnie  ?  "  Frank 
inquired  politely  when  he  had  swallowed  the  last  drop 
and  had  wiped  his  mouth  with  the  back  of  his  hand. 
"  It 's  right  warm  and  dusty  t'day." 

"  They  're  asleep  at  last,  thank  goodness,"  she  an- 
swered, glancing  back  at  a  huddle  of  pink  calico  that 


4  Cow-Country 

showed  just  over  the  crest  of  a  pile  of  crumpled  quilts. 
"  Buddy  has  a  hard  time  of  it.  He  's  all  man  in  his 
disposition,  and  all  baby  in  size.  He  's  been  teasing 
to  walk  with  the  niggers  and  help  drive  the  drag.  Is 
my  husband  calling?  " 

Her  husband  was,  and  Frank  rode  away  at  a  lei- 
surely trot.  Haste  had  little  to  do  with  trailing  a  herd, 
where  eight  miles  was  called  a  good  day's  journey  and 
six  an  average  achievement.  The  fallen  ox  was  un- 
yoked by  the  mellow-voiced  but  exasperated  Ezra,  and 
since  he  would  not  rise,  the  three  remaining  oxen, 
urged  by  the  gad  and  Ezra's  upbraiding,  swung  the 
wagon  to  one  side  and  moved  it  a  little  farther  after 
the  slow-moving  herd,  so  that  the  exhausted  animal 
could  rest,  and  the  raw  recruit  be  yoked  in  where  he 
could  do  the  least  harm  and  would  the  speediest  learn 
a  new  lesson  in  discomfort.  Mrs.  Birnie  glanced  again 
at  the  huddle  of  pink  in  the  nest  of  quilts  behind  a  be- 
loved chest  of  drawers  in  the  wagon,  and  sighed  with 
relief  because  Buddy  slept. 

An  ambitious  man-child  already  was  Buddy,  accus- 
tomed to  certain  phrases  that,  since  he  could  toddle, 
had  formed  inevitable  accompaniment  to  his  investi- 
gative footsteps.  "  L'k-out-dah !  "  he  had  for  a  long 
time  believed  to  be  his  name  among  the  black  folk  of 
his  world.  White  folk  had  varied  it  slightly.  He 
knew  that  "  Run-to-mother-now  "  meant  that  some- 
thing he  would  delight  in  but  must  not  watch  was  going 
to  take  place.  Spankings  more  or  less  official  and  not 
often  painful  signified  that  big  folks  did  not  under- 
stand him  and  his  activities,  or  were  cross  about  some- 
thing. Now,  mother  did  not  want  him  to  watch  the 
wild  cow  run  and  jump  at  the  end  of  a  rope  until  finally 


Ambitious   Child  Was   Buddy      5 

forced  to  submit  to  the  ox-yoke  and  help  pull  the 
wagon.  Buddy  loved  to  watch  them,  but  he  under- 
stood that  mother  was  afraid  the  wild' cow  might  step 
on  him.  Why  she  should  want  him  to  sleep  when  he 
was  not  sleepy  he  had  not  yet  discovered,  and  so  dis- 
dained to  give  it  serious  consideration. 

"Not  sleepy,"  Buddy  stated  again  emphatically  as 
a  sort  of  mental  dismissal  of  the  command,  and 
crawled  carefully  past  Sister  and  lifted  a  flap  of  the 
canvas  cover.  A  button  —  the  last  button  —  popped 
off  his  pink  apron  and  the  sleeves  rumpled  down  over 
his  hands.  It  felt  all  loose  and  useless,  so  Buddy 
stopped  long  enough  to  pull  the  apron  off  and  throw 
it  beside  Sister  before  he  crawled  under  the  canvas 
flap  and  walked  down  the  spokes  of  a  rear  wheel.  He 
did  not  mean  to  get  in  the  way  of  the  wild  cow,  but 
he  did  want  action  for  his  restless  legs.  He  thought 
that  if  he  went  away  from  the  wagon  and  the  herd 
and  played  while  they  were  catching  the  wild  cow,  it 
would  be  just  the  same  as  if  he  took  a  nap.  Mother 
had  n't  thought  of  it,  or  she  might  have  suggested  it. 

So  Buddy  went  away  from  the  wagon  and  down 
into  a  shallow  dry  wash  where  the  wild  cow  would  not 
come,  and  played.  The  first  thing  he  saw  was  a  scor- 
pion—  nasty  old  bug  that  will  bite  hard  —  and  he 
threw  rocks  at  it  until  it  scuttled  under  a  ledge  out  of 
sight  The  next  thing  he  saw  that  interested  him  at 
all  was  a  horned  toad;  a  hawn-toe,  he  called  it,  after 
Ezra's  manner  of  speaking.  Ezra  had  caught  a  hawn- 
toe  for  him  a  few  days  ago,  but  it  had  mysteriously 
disappeared  out  of  the  wagon.  Buddy  did  not  con- 
nect his  mother's  lack  of  enthusiasm  with  the  disap- 
pearance.    Her  sympathy  with  his  loss  had  seemed 


6  Cow-Country 

to  him  real,  and  he  wanted  another,  fully  believing 
that  in  this  also  mother  would  be  pleased.  So  he  took 
after  this  particular  hawn-toty  that  crawled  into  vari- 
ous hiding  places  only  to  be  spied  and  routed  out  with 
small  rocks  and  a  sharp  stick. 

The  dry  wash  remained  shallow,  and  after  a  while 
Buddy,  still  in  hot  pursuit  of  the  horned  toad,  emerged 
upon  the  level  where  the  herd  had  passed.  The  wagon 
was  nowhere  in  sight,  but  this  did  not  disturb  Buddy. 
He  was  not  lost.  He  knew  perfectly  that  the  brown 
cloud  on  his  narrowed  horizon  was  the  dust  over  the 
herd,  and  that  the  wagon  was  just  behind,  because  the 
wind  that  day  was  blowing  from  the  southwest,  and 
also  because  the  oxen  did  not  walk  as  fast  as  the  herd. 
In  the  distance  he  saw  the  "  drag  "  moving  lazily  along 
after  the  dust-cloud,  with  barefooted  niggers  driving 
the  laggard  cattle  and  singing  dolefully  as  they  walked. 
Emphatically  Buddy  was  not  lost. 

He  wanted  that  particular  horned  toad,  however, 
and  he  kept  after  it  until  he  had  it  safe  in  his  two 
hands. 

It  happened  that  when  he  pounced  at  last  upon  the 
toad  he  disturbed  with  his  presence  a  colony  of  red 
ants  on  moving  day.  The  close  ranks  of  them,  coming 
and  going  in  a  straight  line,  caught  and  held  Buddy's 
attention  to  the  exclusion  of  everything  else  —  save 
the  horned  toad  he  had  been  at  such  pains  to  acquire. 
He  tucked  the  toad  inside  his  underwaist  and  ignored 
its  wriggling  against  his  flesh  while  he  squatted  in  the 
hot  sunshine  and  watched  the  ants,  his  mind  one  great 
question.  Where  were  they  going,  and  what  were 
they  carrying,  and  why  were  they  all  in  such  a  hurry  ? 

Buddy  had  to  know.    To  himself  he  called  it  a  trail 


Ambitious   Child   Was   Buddy      7 

herd  —  but  father's  cattle  did  not  carry  white  lumps 
of  stuff  on  their  heads,  and  furthermore,  they  all 
walked  together  in  the  same  direction;  whereas  the 
ant  herd  traveled  both  ways.  Buddy  made  sure  of 
this,  and  then  started  off,  following  what  he  had  de- 
cided was  the  real  trail  of  the  ants.  Most  children 
would  have  stirred  them  up  with  a  stick;  Buddy  let 
them  alone  so  that  he  could  see  what  they  were  doing 
all  by  themselves. 

The  ants  led  him  to  a  tiny  hole  with  a  finely  pulver- 
ized rim  just  at  the  edge  of  a  sprawly  cactus.  This 
last  Buddy  carefully  avoided,  for  even  at  four  years 
old  he  had  long  ago  learned  the  sting  of  cactus  thorns. 
A  rattlesnake  buzzed  warning  when  he  backed  away, 
and  the  shock  to  Buddy's  nerves  roused  within  him 
the  fighting  spirit.  Rattlesnakes  he  knew  also,  as  the 
common  enemy  of  men  and  cattle.  Once  a  steer  had 
been  bitten  on  the  nose  and  his  head  had  swollen  up  so 
he  could  n't  eat.  Buddy  did  not  want  that  t.  lappen 
to  him. 

He  made  sure  that  the  homed  toad  was  safe,  chose 
a  rock  as  large  as  he  could  lift  and  heave  from  him, 
and  threw  it  at  the  buzzing,  gray  coil.  He  did  not  wait 
to  see  what  happened,  but  picked  up  another  rock,  a 
terrific  buzzing  sounding  stridently  from  the  coil.  He 
threw  another  and  another  with  all  the  force  of  his 
healthy  little  muscles.  For  a  four-year-old  he  aimed 
well ;  several  of  the  rocks  landed  on  the  coil. 

The  snake  wriggled  feebly  from  under  the  rocks 
and  tried  to  crawl  away  and  hide,  its  rattles  clicking 
listlessly.  Buddy  had  another  rock  in  his  hands  and 
in  his  eyes  the  blue  fire  of  righteous  conquest.  He  went 
close  —  close  enough  to  have  brought  a  protesting 


8  Cow-Country 

cry  from  a  grownup  —  lifted  the  rock  high  as  he 
could  and  brought  it  down  fair  on  the  battered  head 
of  the  rattler.  The  loathsome  length  of  it  winced 
and  thrashed  ineffectively,  and  after  a  few  minutes 
lay  slack,  the  tail  wriggling  aimlessly. 

Buddy  stood  with  his  feet  far  apart  and  his  hands 
on  his  hips,  as  he  had  seen  the  cowboy  do  whom  he 
had  unconsciously  imitated  in  the  killing. 

"  Snakes  like  Injuns.  Dead  'ns  is  good  ^ns,"  he 
observed  sententiously,  still  playing  the  part  of  the 
cowboy.  Then,  quite  sure  that  the  snake  was  dead, 
he  took  it  by  the  tail,  felt  again  of  the  horned  toad  on 
his  chest  and  went  back  to  see  ivhat  the  ants  were 
doing. 

When  so  responsible  a  person  as  a  grownup  stops 
to  watch  the  orderly  activities  of  an  army  of  ants, 
minutes  and  hours  slip  away  unnoticed.  Buddy  was 
absolutely  fascinated,  lost  to  everything  else.  When 
some  '^'"^inct  born  in  the  very  blood  of  him  warned 
Buddy  that  time  was  passing,  he  stood  up  and  saw 
that  the  sim  hung  just  above  the  edge  of  the  world, 
and  that  the  sky  was  a  glorious  jumble  of  red  and 
purple  and  soft  rose. 

The  first  thing  Buddy  did  was  to  stoop  and  study 
attentively  the  dead  snake,  to  see  if  the  tail  still 
wiggled.  It  did  not,  though  he  watched  it  for  a  full 
minute.  He  looked  at  the  sun  —  it  had  not  "  set " 
but  glowed  big  and  yellow  as  far  from  the  earth  as 
his  father  was  tall.  Ezra  had  lied  to  him.  Dead 
snakes  did  not  wiggle  their  tails  until  sundown. 

Buddy  looked  for  the  dust  cloud  of  the  herd,  and 
was  surprised  to  find  it  smaller  than  he  had  ever  seen 
it,  and  farther  away.    Indeed,  he  could  only  guess  that 


Ambitious   Child  Was   Buddy      9 

the  faint  smudge  on  the  horizon  was  the  dust  he  had 
followed  for  more  days  than  he  could  count.  He  was 
not  afraid,  but  he  was  hungry  and  he  thought  his 
mother  would  maybe  wonder  where  he  was,  and  he 
knew  that  the  point-riders  had  already  stopped  push- 
ing the  herd  ahead,  and  that  the  cattle  were  feeding 
now  so  that  they  would  bed  down  at  dusk.  The  chuck- 
wagon  was  camped  somewhere  close  by,,  and  old  Step- 
and-a-Half,  the  lame  cook,  was  stirring  things  in  his 
Dutch  ovens  over  the  camp-fire.  Buddy  could  almost 
smell  the  beans  and  the  meat  stew,  he  was  so  hungry. 
He  turned  and  took  one  last,  long  look  at  the  endless 
stream  of  ants  still  crawling  along,  picked  up  the  dead 
snake  by  the  tail,  cupped  the  other  hand  over  the 
horned  toad  inside  his  waist,  and  started  for  camp. 

After  a  while  he  heard  someone  shouting,  but  beyond 
a  faint  relief  that  he  was  after  all  near  his  "  outfit  '\ 
Buddy  paid  no  attention.  The  boys  were  always 
shouting  to  one  another,  or  yelling  at  their  horses  or 
at  the  herd  or  at  the  niggers.  It  did  not  occur  to  him 
that  they  might  be  shouting  for  him,  until  from  an- 
other direction  he  heard  Ezra's  unmistakable,  booming 
voice.  Ezra  sang  a  thunderous  baritone  when  the 
niggers  lifted  up  their  voices  in  song  around  their 
camp-fire,  and  he  could  be  heard  for  half  a  mile  when 
he  called  in  real  earnest.  He  was  calling  now,  and 
Buddy,  stopping  to  listen,  fancied  that  he  heard  his 
name.    A  little  farther  on,  he  was  sure  of  it. 

"  Ooo-^^/     Whah  y'  all,  Buddy?     Ooo-^£>^.' " 

"  I  'm  a-comin\"  Buddy  shrilled  impatiently. 
"What  y'all  want?" 

His  piping  voice  did  not  carry  to  Ezra,  who  kept  on 
shouting.    The  radiant  purple  and  red  and  gold  above 


lo  Cow-Country 

him  deepened,  darkened.  The  whole  wild  expanse  of 
half -barren  land  became  suddenly  a  place  of  unearthly- 
beauty  that  dulled  to  the  shadows  of  dusk.  Buddy 
trudged  on,  keeping  to  the  deep-worn  buffalo  trails 
which  the  herd  had  followed  and  scored  afresh  with 
their  hoofs.  He  could  not  miss  his  way  —  not  Buddy, 
son  of  Bob  Birnie,  owner  of  the  Tomahawk  outfit  — 
but  his  legs  were  growing  pretty  tired,  and  he  was 
so  hungry  that  he  could  have  sat  down  on  the  ground 
and  cried  with  the  gnawing  food-call  of  his  empty 
little  stomach. 

He  could  hear  other  voices  shouting  at  intervals 
now,  but  Ezra's  voice  was  the  loudest  and  the  closest, 
and  it  seemed  to  Buddy  that  Ezra  never  once  stopped 
calling.  Twice  Buddy  called  back  that  he  was  a-comin', 
but  Ezra  shouted  just  the  same:  "  Ooo-ee!  Whah 
/all,  Buddy?     Ooo-eer' 

Imperceptibly  dusk  deepened  to  darkness.  A  gust 
of  anger  swept  Buddy's  soul  because  he  was  tired,  be- 
cause he  was  hungry  and  he  was  yet  a  long  way  from 
the  camp,  but  chiefly  because  Ezra  persisted  in  calling 
after  Buddy  had  several  times  answered.  He  heard 
someone  whom  he  recognized  as  Frank  Davis,  but  by 
this  time  he  was  so  angry  that  he  would  not  say  a 
word,  though  he  was  tempted  to  ask  Frank  to  take 
him  up  on  his  horse  and  let  him  ride  to  camp.  He 
heard  others  —  and  once  the  beat  of  hoofs  came  quite 
close.  But  there  was  a  wide  streak  of  Scotch  stub- 
bornness in  Buddy  —  along  with  several  other  Scotch 
streaks  —  and  he  continued  his  stumbling  progress, 
dragging  the  snake  by  the  tail,  his  other  hand  holding 
fast  the  horned  toad. 

His  heart  jumped  up  and  almost  choked  him  when 


Ambitious   Child   Was   Buddy      1 1 

he  first  saw  the  three  twinkles  on  the  ground  which 
he  knew  were  not  stars  but  camp-fires. 

Quite  unexpectedly  he  trudged  into  the  firelight 
where  Step-and-a-Half  was  stirring  delectable  things 
in  the  iron  pots  and  stopping  every  minute  or  so  to 
stare  anxiously  into  the  gloom.  Buddy  stood  blinking 
and  sniffing,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  Dutch  ovens. 

"  I  'm  hungry!"  he  announced  accusingly,  gripping 
the  toad  that  had  begun  to  squirm  at  the  heat  and 
light.     "  I  kilt  a  snake  an'  I  'm  hungry!" 

"Good  gorry!''  swore  Step-and-a-Half,  and 
whipped  out  his  six-shooter  and  fired  three  shots  into 
the  air. 

Footsteps  came  scurrying.  Buddy's  mother  swept 
him  into  her  arms,  laughing  with  a  little  whimpering 
sound  of  tears  in  the  laughter.  Buddy  wriggled  pro- 
testingly  in  her  arms. 

"L'kout!  Y' all  sku^h  'im!  I  got  a  hawn-iot; 
wight  here."  He  patted  his  chest  gloatingly.  "  An* 
I  got  a  snake.    I  kilt  'im.    An'  I  'm  hungry." 

Mother  of  Buddy  though  she  was.  Lassie  set  him 
down  hurriedly  and  surveyed  her  man-child  from  a 
little  distance. 

"  Buddy !     Drop  that  snake  instantly !  " 

Buddy  obeyed,  but  he  planted  a  foot  close  to  his  kill 
and  pouted  his  lips.  "  'S  my  snake.  I  kilt  'im,"  he 
said  firmly.  He  pulled  the  horned  toad  from  his 
waist-front  and  held  it  tightly  in  his  two  hands.  "  An 
's  my  hawn-toe.  I  ketched  'm.  'Way  ova  dere,"  he 
added,  tilting  his  tow  head  toward  the  darkness  be- 
hind him. 

Bob  Bimic  rode  up  at  a  gallop,  pulled  up  his  horse 
in  the  edge  of  the  fire  glow  and  dismounted  hastily. 


1 2  Cow-Country 

Bob  Birnie  never  needed  more  than  one  glance  to 
furnish  him  the  details  of  a  scene.  He  saw  the  very 
small  boy  confronting  his  mother  with  a  dead  snake, 
a  horned  toad  and  a  stubborn  set  to  his  lips.  He  saw 
that  the  mother  looked  rather  helpless  before  the  com- 
bination—  and  his  brown  mustache  hid  a  smile.  He 
walked  up  and  looked  his  first-born  over. 

"  Buddy/'  he  demanded  sternly,  "  where  have  you 
been?" 

"  Out  dere.  Kilt  a  snake.  Ants  was  trailing  a 
herd.    I  got  a  hawn-toe.    An'  I  'm  hungry !  " 

"  You  know  better  than  to  leave  the  wagon,  young 
man.  Did  n't  you  know  we  had  to  get  out  and  hunt 
you,  and  mother  was  scared  the  wolves  might  eat  you  ? 
Didn't  you  hear  us  calling  you?  Why  didn't  you 
answer  ?  " 

Buddy  looked  up  from  under  his  baby  eyebrows  at 
his  father,  who  seemed  very  tall  and  very  terrible.  But 
his  bare  foot  touched  the  dead  snake  and  he  took  com- 
fort. "  I  was  comin',"  he  said.  "  I  was  n't  los'.  I 
bringed  my  snake  and  my  hawn-toe.  An'  dey  — 
was  n't  —  any  —  woluffs !  "  The  last  word  came  muf- 
fled, buried  in  his  mother's  skirts. 


CHAPTER  TWO 
The   Trail   Herd 

Day  after  day  the  trail  herd  plodded  slowly  to  the 
north,  following  the  buffalo  trails  that  would  lead  to 
water,  and  the  crude  map  of  one  who  had  taken  a  herd 
north  and  had  returned  with  a  tale  of  vast  plains  and 
no  rivals.  Always  through  the  day  the  dust  cloud 
hung  over  the  backs  of  the  cattle,  settled  into  the 
clothes  of  those  who  followed,  grimed  the  pink  aprons 
of  Buddy  and  his  small  sister  Dulcie  so  that  they  were 
no  longer  pink.  Whenever  a  stream  was  reached, 
mother  searched  patiently  for  clear  water  and  an  un- 
trampled  bit  of  bank  where  she  might  do  the  family 
washing,  leaving  Ezra  to  mind  the  children.  But 
even  so  the  dust  and  the  wear  and  tear  of  travel  re- 
mained to  harass  her  fastidious  soul. 

Buddy  remembered  that  drive  as  he  could  not  re- 
member the  comfortable  ranch  house  of  his  earlier 
babyhood.  To  him  afterward  it  seemed  that  life 
began  with  the  great  herd  of  cattle.  He  came  to  know 
just  how  low  the  sun  must  slide  from  the  top  of  the 
sky  before  the  "  point "  would  spread  out  with  noses 
to  the  ground,  pausing  wherever  a  mouthful  of  grass 
was  to  be  found.  When  these  leaders  of  the  herd 
stopped,  the  cattle  would  scatter  and  begin  feeding. 
H  there  was  water  they  would  crowd  the  banks  of  the 


14 


Cow-Country  I 


stream  or  pool,  pushing  and  prodding  one  another  with 
their  great,  sharp  horns.  Later,  when  the  sun  was 
gone  and  dusk  crept  out  of  nowhere,  the  cowboys 
would  ride  slowly  around  the  herd,  pushing  it  quietly 
into  a  smaller  compass.  Then,  if  Buddy  were  not  too 
sleepy,  he  would  watch  the  cattle  lie  down  to  chew  their 
cuds  in  deep,  sighing  content  until  they  slept.  It  re- 
minded Buddy  vaguely  of  when  mother  popped  corn 
in  a  wire  popper,  a  long  time  ago  —  before  they  all 
lived  in  a  wagon  and  went  with  the  herd.  First  one 
and  two  —  then  there  would  be  three,  four,  five,  as 
many  as  Buddy  could  count  —  then  the  whole  herd 
would  be  lying  down. 

Buddy  loved  the  camp-fires.  The  cowboys  would 
sit  around  the  one  where  his  father  and  mother  sat  — 
mother  with  Dulcie  in  her  arms  —  and  they  would 
smoke  and  tell  stories,  until  mother  told  him  it  was 
time  little  boys  were  in  bed.  Buddy  always  wanted 
to  know  what  they  said  after  he  had  climbed  into  the 
big  wagon  where  mother  had  made  a  bed,  but  he  never 
found  out.  He  could  remember  lying  there  listening 
sometimes  to  the  niggers  singing  at  their  own  camp- 
fire  within  call,  Ezra  always  singing  the  loudest,  — 
just  as  a  bull  always  could  be  heard  above  the  bellow- 
ing of  the  herd. 

All  his  life,  Ezra's  singing  and  the  monotonous  bel- 
lowing of  a  herd  reminded  Buddy  of  one  mysteriously 
terrible  time  when  there  weren't  any  rivers  or  any 
ponds  or  anything  along  the  trail,  and  they  had  to  be 
careful  of  the  water  and  save  it,  and  he  and  Dulcie 
were  not  asked  to  wash  their  faces.  I  think  that 
miracle  helped  to  fix  the  incident  indelibly  in  Buddy's 
mind;  that,  and  the  bellowing  of  the  cattle.  It  seemed  a 


The   Trail   Herd  15 


month  to  Buddy,  but  as  he  grew  older  he  learned  that 
it  was  three  days  they  went  without  water. 

The  first  day  he  did  not  remember  especially,  except 
that  mother  had  talked  about  clean  aprons  that  night, 
and  failed  to  produce  any.  The  second  he  recalled 
quite  clearly.  Father  came  to  the  wagons  sometime  in 
the  night  to  see  if  mother  was  asleep.  Their  mur- 
mured talk  wakened  Buddy  and  he  heard  father  say: 
"  We  '11  hold  'em,  all  right,  Lassie.  And  there 's 
water  ahead.  It 's  marked  on  the  trail  map.  Don't  you 
worry  —  I  '11  stay  up  and  help  the  boys.  The  cattle 
are  uneasy  —  but  we  '11  hold  'em." 

The  third  day  Buddy  never  forgot.  That  was  the  day 
when  mother  forgot  that  q  stands  for  Quagga,  and 
permitted  Buddy  to  call  it  />,  just  for  fun,  because  it 
looked  so  much  like  p.  And  when  he  said  "  w  is 
water",  mother  made  a  funny  sound  and  said  right 
out  loud,  "  Oh  God,  please !  "  and  told  Buddy  to  creep 
back  and  play  with  Sister  —  when  Sister  was  asleep, 
and  there  were  still  Xy  y  and  2  to  say,  let  alone  that 
mysterious  And-so-forth  which  seemed  to  mean  so 
much  and  so  little  and  never  was  called  upon  to  help 
spell  a  word.  Never  since  he  began  to  have  lessons 
had  mother  omitted  a  single  letter  or  cut  the  study 
hour  down  the  teeniest  little  bit. 

Buddy  was  afraid  of  something,  but  he  could  not 
think  what  it  was  that  frightened  him.  He  began  to 
think  seriously  about  water,  and  to  listen  uneasily  to 
the  constant  lowing  of  the  herd.  The  increased  shout- 
ing of  the  niggers  driving  the  lagging  ones  held  a 
sudden  significance.  It  occurred  to  him  that  the  nig- 
gers had  their  hands  full,  and  that  they  had  never 
driven  so  big  a  "  drag."    It  was  hotter  than  ever,  too, 


1 6  Cow-Country 

and  they  had  twice  stopped  to  yoke  in  fresh  oxen. 
Ezra  had  boasted  all  along  that  ole  Bawley  would 
keep  his  end  up  till  they  got  clah  to  Wyoming.  But 
ole  Bawley  had  stopped,  and  stopped,  and  at  last  had 
to  be  taken  out  of  the  yoke.  Buddy  began  to  wish  they 
would  hurry  up  and  find  a  river. 

None  of  the  cowboys  would  take  him  on  the  saddle 
and  let  him  ride,  that  day.  They  looked  harassed  — 
Buddy  called  it  cross  —  when  they  rode  up  to  the 
wagon  to  give  their  horses  a  few  mouthfuls  of  water 
from  the  barrel.  Step-and-a-Half  could  n't  spare  any 
more,  they  told  mother.  He  had  declared  at  noon  that 
he  needed  every  drop  he  had  for  the  cooking,  and  there 
would  be  no  washing  of  dishes  whatever.  Later, 
mother  had  studied  a  map  and  afterwards  had  sat  for 
a  long  while  staring  out  over  the  backs  of  the  cattle, 
her  face  white.  Buddy  thought  perhaps  mother  was 
sick. 

That  day  lasted  hours  and  hours  longer  than  any 
other  day  that  Buddy  could  remember.  His  father 
looked  cross,  too,  when  he  rode  back  to  them.  Gnce 
it  was  to  look  at  the  map  which  mother  had  studied. 
They  talked  together  afterwards,  and  Buddy  heard 
liis  father  say  that  she  must  not  worry;  the  cattle  had 
good  bottom,  and  could'stand  thirst  better  than  a  poor 
herd,  and  another  dry  camp  would  not  really  hurt 
anyone. 

He  had  uncovered  the  water  barrel  and  looked  in, 
and  had  ridden  straight  over  to  the  chuck-wagon,  his 
horse  walking  alongside  the  high  seat  where  Step-and- 
a-Half  sat  perched  listlessly  with  a  long-lashed  ox- 
whip  in  his  hand.  Father  had  talked  for  a  few  min- 
utes, and  had  ridden  back  scowling. 


The  Trail   Herd  17 

"That  old  scoundrel  has  got  two  ten-gallon  kegs 
that  have  n't  been  touched !  "  he  told  mother.  "  Yo*  all 
mustn't  water  any  more  horses  out  of  your  barrel. 
Send  the  boys  to  Step-and-a-Half.  Yo'  all  keep  what 
you  Ve  got.  The  horses  have  got  to  have  water  — 
to-night  it 's  going  to  be  hell  to  hold  the  herd,  and  if 
anybody  goes  thirsty  it  '11  be  the  men,  not  the  horses. 
But  yo'  all  send  them  to  the  other  wagon,  Lassie. 
Mind,  now !    Not  a  drop  to  anyone." 

After  father  rode  away,  Buddy  crept  up  and  put 
his  two  short  arms  around  mother.  "  Don't  cry.  I 
don't  have  to  drink  any  water,"  he  soothed  her.  He 
waited  a  minute  and  added  optimistically,  "  Dere  's  a 
bi-ig  wiver  comin'  pitty  soon.  Oxes  smells  water  a 
hunerd  miles.  Ezra  says  so.  An'  las'  night  Grumpy 
was  snuffin'  an'  snuffin'.  I  saw  'im  do  it.  He  smelt  a 
big  wiver.  That  bi-ig !  "  He  spread  his  short  arms 
as  wide  apart  as  they  would  reach,  and  smiled  tremu- 
lously. 

Mother  squeezed  Buddy  so  hard  that  he  grunted. 

"  Dear  little  man,  of  course  there  is.  We  don't 
mind,  do  we?  I  —  was  feeling  sorry  for  the  poor 
cattle." 

"  De  're  firsty,"  Buddy  stated  solemnly,  his  eyes 
big.  "  De  're  bawlin'  fer  a  (irink  of  water.  I  guess 
de  're  awful  firsty.  Dere  's  a  big  wiver  comin'  now. 
Grumpy  smelt  a  big  wiver." 

Buddy's  mother  stared  across  the  arid  plain  parched 
into  greater  barrenness  by  the  heat  that  had  been  un- 
remitting for  the  past  week.  Buddy's  faith  in  the  big 
river  she  could  not  share.  Somehow  they  had  drifted 
off  the  trail  marked  on  the  map  drawn  by  George 
Williams. 


1 8  Cow-Country 


Williams  had  warned  them  to  carry  as  much  water 
as  possible  in  barrels,  as  a  precaution  against  suffering 
if  they  failed  to  strike  water  each  night.  He  had  told 
them  that  water  was  scarce,  but  that  his  cowboy  scouts 
and  the  deep-worn  buffalo  trails  had  been  able  to 
bring  him  through  with  water  at  every  camp  save  two 
or  three.  The  Staked  Plains,  he  said,  would  be  the 
hardest  drive.  And  this  was  the  Staked  Plains  — 
and  it  was  hard  driving! 

Buddy  did  not  know  all  that  imtil  afterwards,  when 
he  heard  father  talk  of  the  drive  north.  But  he  would 
have  remembered  that  day  and  the  night  that  followed, 
even  though  he  had  never  heard  a  word  about  it. 
The  bawling  of  the  herd  became  a  doleful  chant  of 
misery.  Even  the  phlegmatic  oxen  that  drew  the 
wagons  bawled  and  slavered  while  they  strained  for- 
ward, twisting  their  heads  under  the  heavy  yokes. 
They  stopped  oftener  than  usual  to  rest,  and  when 
Buddy  was  permitted  to  walk  with  the  perspiring 
Ezra  by  the  leaders,  he  wondered  why  the  oxen's  eyes 
were  red,  like  Dulcie's  when  she  had  one  of  her  crying 
spells. 

At  night  the  cowboys  did  not  tie  their  horses  and 
sit  down  while  they  ate,  but  stood  by  their  mounts  and 
bolted  food  hurriedly,  one  eye  always  on  the  restless 
cattle,  that  walked  around  and  around,  and  would 
neither  eat  nor  lie  down,  but  lowed  incessantly.  Once 
a  few  animals  came  close  enough  to  smell  the  water  in 
a  bucket  where  Frank  Davis  was  watering  his  sweat- 
streaked  horse,  and  Step-and-a-Half's  wagon  was  al- 
most upset  before  the  maddened  cattle  could  be  driven 
back  to  the  main  herd. 

"  No  use  camping,"  Bob  Bimie  told  the  boys  gath- 


The   Trail   Herd  19 

ered  around  Step-and-a-Half*s  Dutch  ovens.  "  The 
cattle  won^t  stand.  We  '11  wear  ourselves  and  them 
out  trying  to  hold  'em  —  they  may  as  \yell  be  hunting 
water  as  running  in  circles.  Step-and-a-Half,  keep 
your  cooked  grub  handy  for  the  boys,  and  yo'  all  pack 
up  and  pull  out.  We  '11  turn  the  cattle  loose  and  fol- 
low. If  there's  any  water  in  this  damned  country 
they  '11  find  it." 

Years  afterwards,  Buddy  learned  that  his  father 
had  sent  men  out  to  hunt  water,  and  that  they  had  not 
found  any.  He  was  ten  when  this  was  discussed 
around  a  spring  roundup  fire,  and  he  had  studied  the 
matter  for  a  few  minutes  and  then  had  spoken  boldly 
his  mind. 

"You  oughta  kept  your  horses  as  thirsty  as  the 
cattle  was,  and  I  bet  they  'd  a'  found  that  water,"  he 
criticized,  and  was  sent  to  bed  for  his  tactlessness. 
Bob  Birnie  himself  had  thought  of  that  afterwards, 
and  had  excused  the  oversight  by  saying  that  he  had 
depended  on  the  map,  and  had  not  foreseen  a  three- 
day  dry  drive. 

However  that  may  be,  that  night  was  a  night  of 
panicky  desperation.  Ezra  walked  beside  the  oxen 
and  shouted  and  swung  his  lash,  and  the  oxen  strained 
forward  bellowing  so  that  ncvt  even  Dulcie  could 
sleep,  but  whimpered  fretfully  in  her  mother's  arms. 
Buddy  sat  up  wide-eyed  and  watched  for  the  big 
river,  and  tried  not  to  be  a  'f raid-cat  and  cry  like 
Dulcie. 

It  was  long  past  starry  midnight  when  a  little  wind 
puffed  out  of  the  darkness  and  the  oxen  threw  up  their 
heads  and  sniffed,  and  put  a  new  note  into  their 
"  M-baw-aw-aw-mm  I  "    They  swung  sharply  so  that 


2  0  Cow-Country 

the  wind  blew  straight  into  the  front  of  the  wagon, 
which  lurched  forward  with  a  new  impetus. 

"  Glo-ory  t*  Gawd,  Missy !  Dey  smells  watah,  sho  's 
yo'  bawn !  "  sobbed  Ezra  as  he  broke  into  a  trot  beside 
the  wheelers.  "  Tain't  fur  —  lookit  dat-ah  huhd 
a-goin'  it !  No  'm,  Missy,  dey  ain't  woah  out  —  dey 
smellin'  watah  an'  dey  'm  gittin'  to  it !  'Tain't  fur, 
Missy." 

Buddy  clung  to  the  back  of  the  seat  and  stared 
round-eyed  into  the  gloom.  He  never  forgot  that 
lumpy  shadow  which  was  the  herd,  traveling  fast  in 
dust  that  obscured  the  nearest  stars.  The  shadow 
humped  here  and  there  as  the  cattle  crowded  forward  at 
a  shuffling  half  trot,  the  c//c^-swash  of  their  shambling 
feet  treading  close  on  one  another.  The  rapping  tattoo 
of  wide-spread  horns  clashing  against  wide-spread 
horns  filled  him  with  a  formless  terror,  so  that  he  let  go 
the  seat  to  clutch  at  mother's  dress.  He  was  not  afraid 
of  cattle  —  they  were  as  much  a  part  of  his  world  as 
were  Ezra  and  the  wagon  and  the  camp-fires  —  but  he 
trembled  with  the  dread  which  no  man  could  name  for 
him. 

These  were  not  the  normal,  everyday  sounds  of  the 
herd.  The  herd  had  somehow  changed  from  plodding 
animals  to  one  overwhelming  purpose  that  would 
sweep  away  anything  that  came  in  its  path.  Two 
thousand  parched  throats  and  dust-dry  tongues  —  and 
suddenly  the  smell  of  water  that  would  go  gurgling 
down  two  thousand  eager  gullets,  and  every  interven- 
ing second  a  cursed  delay  against  which  the  cattle 
surged  blindly.  It  was  the  mob  spirit,  when  the  mob 
was  fighting  for  its  very  existence. 

Over  the  bellowing  of  the  cattle  a  yelling  cowboy 


The  Trail   Herd  '     2i 

now  and  tlien  made  himself  heard.  The  four  oxen 
straining  under  their  yokes  broke  into  a  lumbering 
gallop  lest  they  be  outdistanced  by  the  herd,  and  Dul- 
cie  screamed  when  the  wagon  lurched  across  a  dry 
wash  and  almost  upset,  while  Ezra  plied  the  ox-whip 
and  yelled  frantically  at  first  one  ox  and  then  another, 
inventing  names  for  the  new  ones.  Buddy  drew  in  his 
breath  and  held  it  until  the  wagon  rolled  on  four  wheels 
instead  of  two, — but  he  did  not  scream. 

Still  the  big  river  did  not  come.  It  seemed  to 
Buddy  that  the  cattle  would  never  stop  running.  Tan- 
gled in  the  terror  was  Ezra's  shouting  as  he  ran  along- 
side the  wagon  and  called  to  Missy  that  it  was  "  dat 
ole  Grumpy  actin'  the  fool ",  and  that  the  wagon 
would  n't  upset.  "  No  'm,  dey  's  jest  in  a  hurry  to  git 
dere  fool  haids  sunk  to  de  eyes  in  dat  watah.  Dey 
ain't  aimin'  to  run  away  —  no  'm,  dish  yer  ain't  no 
stampede !  '* 

Perhaps  Buddy  dozed.  The  next  thing  he  remem- 
bered, day  was  breaking,  with  the  sun  all  red,  seen 
through  the  dust.  The  herd  was  still  going,  but  now 
it  was  running  and  somehow  the  yoked  oxen  were 
keeping  close  behind,  lumbering  along  with  heads  held 
low  and  the  sweat  reeking  from  their  spent  bodies. 
Buddy  heard  dimly  his  mother's  sharp  command  to 
Ezra: 

"  Stand  back,  Ezra !  We  're  not  going  to  be  caught 
in  that  terrible  trap.  They're  piling  over  the  bank 
ahead  of  us.  Get  away  from  the  leaders.  I  am  going 
to  shoot." 

Buddy  crawled  up  a  little  higher  on  the  blankets 
behind  the  seat,  and  saw  mother  steady  herself  and 
aim  the  rifle  straight  at  Grumpy.     There  was  the 


2  2  Cow-Country 

familiar,  deafening  roar,  the  acrid  smell  of  black  pow- 
der smoke,  and  Grumpy  went  down  loosely,  his  nose 
rooting  the  trampled  ground  for  a  space  before  the  gun 
belched  black  smoke  again  and  Crumpy's  yoke-mate 
pitched  forward.  The  wagon  stopped  so  abruptly 
that  Buddy  sprawled  helplessly  on  his  back  like  an 
overturned  beetle. 

He  saw  mother  stand  looking  down  at  the  wheelers, 
that  backed  and  twisted  their  necks  under  their  yokes. 
Her  lips  were  set  firmly  together,  and  her  eyes  were 
bright  with  purple  hollows  beneath.  She  held  the 
rifle  for  a  moment,  then  set  the  butt  of  it  on  the 
"  jockey  box  "  just  in  front  of  the  dashboard.  The 
wheelers,  helpless  between  the  weight  of  the  wagon 
behind  and  the  dead  oxen  in  front,  might  twist  their 
necks  off  but  they  could  do  no  damage. 

"  Unyoke  the  wheelers,  Ezra,  and  let  the  poor 
creatures  have  their  chance  at  the  water,"  she  cried 
sharply,  and  Ezra,  dodging  the  horns  of  the  frantic 
brutes,  made  shift  to  obey. 

Fairly  on  the  bank  of  the  sluggish  stream  with  its 
flood-worn  channel  and  its  treacherous  patches  of 
quicksand,  the  wagon  thus  halted  by  the  sheer  nerve 
and  quick-thinking  of  mother  became  a  very  small 
island  in  a  troubled  sea  of  weltering  backs  and  tossing 
horns  and  staring  eyeballs.  Riders  shouted  and  lashed 
unavailingly  with  their  quirts,  trying  to  hold  back  the 
full  bulk  of  the  herd  until  the  foremost  had  slaked 
their  thirst  and  gone  on.  But  the  herd  was  crazy  for 
the  water,  and  the  foremost  were  plunged  headlong 
into  the  soft  mud  where  they  mired,  trampled  under 
the  hoofs  of  those  who  came  crowding  from  behind. 

Someone  shouted,  close  to  the  wagon  yet  down  the 


The   Trail   Herd  23 

bank  at  the  edge  of  the  water.  The  words  were  in- 
distinguishable, but  a  warning  was  in  the  voice.  On 
the  echo  of  that  cry,  a  man  screamed  twice. 

"  Ezra !  "  cried  mother  fiercely.  "  It  *s  Frank 
Davis  —  they  Ve  got  him  down,  somehow.  Climb 
over  the  backs  of  the  cattle  —  there  's  no  other  way  — 
and  get  him! " 

"  Yas  'm,  Missy !  "  Ezra  called  back,  and  then 
Buddy  saw  him  go  over  the  herd,  scrambling,  jump- 
ing from  back  to  back. 

Buddy  remembered  that  always,  and  the  funeral 
they  had  later  in  the  day,  when  the  herd  was  again 
just  trail-weary  cattle  feeding  hungrily  on  the  scanty 
grass.  Down  at  the  edge  of  the  creek  the  carcasses  of 
many  dead  animals  lay  half -buried  in  the  mud.  Up 
on  a  little  knoll  where  a  few  stunted  trees  grew,  the 
negroes  dug  a  long,  deep  hole.  Mother's  eyes  were 
often  filled  with  tears  that  day,  and  the  cowboys 
scarcely  talked  at  all  when  they  gathered  at  the  chuck- 
wagon. 

After  a  while  they  all  went  to  the  hole  which  the 
negroes  had  dug,  and  there  was  a  long  Something 
wrapped  up  in  canvas.  Mother  wore  her  best  dress, 
which  was  black,  and  father  and  all  the  boys  had 
shaved  their  faces  and  looked  very  sober.  The  negroes 
stood  back  in  a  group  by  themselves,  and  every  few 
minutes  Buddy  saw  them  draw  their  tattered  shirt- 
sleeves across  their  faces.  And  father  —  Buddy 
looked  once  and  saw  two  tears  running  down  father's 
cheeks.  Buddy  was  shocked  into  a  stony  calm.  He 
had  never  dreamed  that  fathers  ever  cried. 

Mother  read  out  of  her  Bible,  and  all  the  boys  held 
their  hats  in  front  of  them,  with  their  hands  clasped, 


24  Cow-Country 

and  looked  at  the  ground  while  she  read.  Then  mother 
sang.  She  sang,  "  We  shall  meet  beyond  the  river  ", 
which  Buddy  thought  was  a  very  queer  song,  because 
they  were  all  there  but  Frank  Davis;  then  she  sang 
"  Nearer,  My  God,  to  Thee."  Buddy  sang  too,  piping 
the  notes  accurately,  with  a  vague  pronunciation  of 
the  words  and  a  feeling  that  somehow  he  was  helping 
mother. 

After  that  they  put  the  long,  canvas-wrapped  Some- 
thing down  in  the  hole,  and  mother  said  "  Our  Father 
Who  Art  in  Heaven",  with  Buddy  repeating  it  un- 
certainly after  her  and  pausing  to  say  ''  treth^dlhtih. " 
very  carefully.  Then  mother  picked  up  Dulcie  in  her 
arms,  took  Buddy  by  the  hand  and  walked  slowly 
back  to  the  wagon,  and  would  not  let  him  turn  to  see 
what  the  boys  were  doing. 

It  was  from  that  day  that  Buddy  missed  Frank 
Davis,  who  had  mysteriously  gone  to  Heaven,  accord- 
ing to  mother.  Buddy's  interest  in  Heaven  was  ex- 
tremely keen  for  a  time,  and  he  asked  questions  which 
not  even  mother  could  answer.  Then  his  memory  of 
Frank  Davis  blurred.  But  never  his  memory  of  that 
terrible  time  when  the  Tomahawk  outfit  lost  five  hun- 
dred cattle  in  the  dry  drive  and  the  stampede  for 
water. 


CHAPTER   THREE 
Some  Indian  Lore 

Buddy  knew  Indians  as  he  knew  cattle,  horses, 
rattlesnakes  and  storms  —  by  having  them  mixed  in 
with  his  everyday  life.  He  could  n't  tell  you  where  or 
when  he  had  learned  that  Indians  are  tricky.  Perhaps 
his  first  ideas  on  that  subject  were  gleaned  from  the 
friendly  tribes  who  lived  along  the  Chisolm  Trail  and 
used  to  visit  the  chuck-wagon,  their  blankets  held 
close  around  them  and  their  eyes  glancing  everywhere 
while  they  grinned  and  talked  and  pointed  —  and  ate. 
Buddy  used  to  sit  in  the  chuck-wagon,  out  of  harm's 
way,  and  watch  them  eat. 

Step-and-a-Half  had  a  way  of  entertaining  Indians 
which  never  failed  to  interest  Buddy,  however  often 
he  witnessed  it.  When  Step-and-a-Half  glimpsed  In- 
dians coming  afar  off,  he  would  take  his  dishpan  and 
dump  into  it  whatever  scraps  of  food  were  left  over 
from  the  preceding  meal.  He  used  to  say  that  In- 
dians could  smell  grub  as  far  as  a  buzzard  can  smell 
a  dead  carcase,  and  Buddy  believed  it,  for  they  always 
arrived  at  meal  time  or  shortly  afterwards.  Step- 
and-a-Half  would  make  a  stew,  if  there  were  scraps 
enough.  If  the  gleanings  were  small,  he  would  use 
the  dishwater  —  he  was  a  frugal  man  —  and  with  that 
for  the  start-off  he  would  make  soup,  which  the  In- 


2  6  Cow-Country 

dians  gulped  down  with  great  relish  and  many  gurgly 
sounds. 

Buddy  watched  them  eat  what  he  called  pig-dinner. 
When  Step-and-a-Half  was  not  looking  he  saw  them 
steal  whatever  their  dirty  brown  hands  could  readily 
snatch  and  hide  under  their  blankets.  So  he  knew 
from  very  early  experience  that  Indians  were  not  to 
be  trusted. 

Once,  when  he  had  again  strayed  too  far  from 
camp,  some  Indians  riding  that  way  saw  him,  and  one 
leaned  and  lifted  him  from  the  ground  and  rode  off 
with  him.  Buddy  did  not  struggle  much.  He  saved 
his  breath  for  the  long,  shrill  yell  of  cow-courttry. 
Twice  he  yodled  before  the  Indian  clapped  a  hand  over 
his  mouth. 

Father  and  some  of  the  cowboys  heard  and  came 
after,  riding  hard  and  shooting  as  they  came.  Buddy's 
pink  apron  fluttered  a  signal  flag  in  the  arms  of  his 
captor,  and  so  it  happened  that  the  bullets  whistled 
close  to  that  particular  Indian.  He  gathered  a  hand- 
ful of  calico  between  Buddy's  shoulders,  held  him  aloft 
like  a  puppy,  leaned  far  over  and  deposited  him  on 
the  ground. 

Buddy  rolled  over  twice  and  got  up,  a  little  dizzy 
and  very  indignant,  and  shouted  to  father,  "  Shoot  a 
sunsyguns !  " 

From  that  time  Buddy  added  hatred  to  his  distrust 
of  Indians. 

From  the  time  when  he  was  four  until  he  was  thir- 
teen Buddy's  life  contained  enough  thrills  to  keep  a 
movie-mad  boy  of  to-day  sitting  on  the  edge  of  \m 
seat  gasping  enviously  through  many  a  reel,  but  to 
Buddy  it  was  all  rather  humdrum  and  monotonous. 


Some   Indian    Lore  27 

What  he  wanted  to  do  was  to  get  out  and  hunt  buffalo. 
Just  herding  horses,  and  watching  out  for  Indians, 
and  killing  rattlesnakes  was  what  any  boy  in  the 
country  would  be  doing.  Still,  Buddy  himself  achieved 
now  and  then  a  thrill. 

There  was  one  day,  when  he  stood  heedlessly  on  a 
ridge  looking  for  a  dozen  head  of  lost  horses  in  the 
draws  below.  It  was  all  very  well  to  explain  missing 
horses  by  the  conjecture  that  the  Injuns  must  have 
got  them,  but  Buddy  happened  to  miss  old  Rattler 
with  the  others.  Rattler  had  come  north  with  the  trail 
herd,  and  he  was  wise  beyond  the  wisdom  of  most 
horses.  He  would  drive  cattle  out  of  the  brush  with- 
out a  rider  to  guide  him,  if  only  you  put  a  saddle  on 
him.  He  had  helped  Buddy  to  mount  his  back  — 
when  Buddy  was  much  smaller  than  now  —  by  lower- 
ing his  head  until  Buddy  straddled  it,  and  then  lifting 
it  so  that  Buddy  slid  down  his  neck  and  over  his  with- 
ers to  his  back.  Even  now  Buddy  sometimes  mounted 
that  way  when  no  one  was  looking.  Many  other 
lovable  traits  had  Rattler,  and  to  lose  him  would  be  a 
tragedy  to  the  family. 

So  Buddy  was  on  the  ridge,  scanning  all  the  deep 
little  washes  and  draws,  when  a  bullet  ping-g-ged  over 
his  head.  Buddy  caught  the  bridle  reins  and  pulled 
his  horse  into  the  shelter  of  rocks,  untied  his  rifle  from 
the  saddle  and  crept  back  to  reconnoitre.  It  was  the 
first  time  he  had  ever  been  shot  at  —  except  in  the 
army  posts,  when  the  Indians  had  "broken  out", —  and 
the  aim  then  was  generally  directed  toward  his  vicin- 
ity rather  than  his  person. 

An  Indian  on  a  horse  presently  appeared  cautiously 
from  cover,  and  Buddy,  trembling  with  excitement, 


2  8  Cow-Country 

shot  wild ;  but  not  so  wild  that  the  Indian  could  afford 
to  scoff  and  ride  closer.  After  another  ineffectual 
shot  at  Buddy,  he  whipped  his  horse  down  the  ridge, 
and  made  for  Bannock  creek. 

Buddy  at  thirteen  knew  more  of  the  wiles  of  In- 
dians than  does  the  hardiest  Indian  fighter  on  the 
screen  to-day.  Father  had  warned  him  never  to 
chase  an  Indian  into  cover,  where  others  would  prob- 
ably be  waiting  for  him.  So  he  stayed  where  he  was, 
pretty  well  hidden  in  the  rocks,  and  let  the  bullets  he 
himself  had  "  run  "  in  father's  bullet-mold  follow  the 
enemy  to  the  fringe  of  bushes.  His  last  shot  knocked 
the  Indian  off  his  horse  —  or  so  it  looked  to  Buddy. 
He  waited  for  a  long  time,  watching  the  brush  and 
thinking  what  a  fool  that  Indian  was  to  imagine  Buddy 
would  follow  him  down  there.  After  a  while  he  saw 
the  Indian's  horse  climbing  the  slope  across  the  creek. 
There  was  no  rider. 

Buddy  rode  home  without  the  missing  horses,  and 
did  not  tell  anyone  about  the  Indian,  though  his 
thoughts  would  not  leave  the  subject. 

He  wondered  what  mother  would  think  of  it. 
Mother's  interests  seemed  mostly  confined  to  teaching 
Buddy  and  Dulcie  what  they  were  deprived  of  learn- 
ing in  schools,  and  to  play  the  piano  —  a  wonderful 
old  square  piano  that  had  come  all  the  way  from  Scot- 
land to  the  Tomahawk  ranch,  the  very  frontier  of  the 
West. 

Mother  was  a  wonderful  woman,  with  a  soft  voice 
and  a  slight  Scotch  accent,  and  wit;  and  a  knowledge 
of  things  which  were  little  known  in  the  wilderness. 
Buddy  never  dreamed  then  how  strangely  culture  was 
mixed  with  pure  savagery  in  his  life.     To  him  the 


Some   Indian   Lore  29 

secret  regret  that  he  had  not  dared  ride  into  the  bushes 
to  scalp  the  Indian  he  believed  he  had  shot,  and  the 
fact  that  his  hands  were  straining  at  the  full  chords  of 
the  Anvil  Chorus  on  that  very  evening,  was  not  even 
to  be  considered  unusual.  Still,  certain  strains  of  that 
classic  were  always  afterward  associated  in  his  mind 
with  the  shooting  of  the  Indian  —  if  he  had  really 
shot  him. 

While  he  counted  the  time  with  a  conscientious  re- 
gard for  the  rests,  he  debated  the  wisdom  of  telling 
mother,  and  decided  that  perhaps  he  had  better  keep 
that  matter  to  himself,  like  a  man. 


CHAPTER  FOUR 
Buddy  Gives  Warning  ^ 

Buddy  swung  down  from  his  horse,  unsaddled  it  and 
went  staggering  to  the  stable  wall  with  the  burden  of  a 
stock-saddle  much  too  big  for  him.  He  had  to  stand 
on  his  boot-toes  to  reach  and  pull  the  bridle  down 
over  the  ears  of  White  foot,  which  turned  with  an  air 
of  immense  relief  into  the  corral  gate  and  the  hay 
piled  at  the  further  end.  Buddy  gave  him  one  pre- 
occupied glance  and  started  for  the  cabin,  walking 
with  the  cowpuncher's  peculiar,  bowlegged  gait  which 
comes  of  wearing  chaps  and  throwing  out  the  knees  to 
overcome  the  stiffness  of  the  leather.  At  thirteen 
Buddy  was  a  cowboy  from  hat-crown  to  spurs  —  and 
at  thirteen  Buddy  gloried  in  the  fact.  To-day,  how- 
ever, his  mind  was  weighted  with  matters  of  more 
importance  than  himself. 

"  The  Utes  are  having  a  war-dance,  mother,"  he 
announced  when  he  had  closed  the  stout  door  of  the 
kitchen  behind  him.  "  They  mean  it  this  time.  I 
lay  in  the  brush  and  watched  them  last  night.'*  He 
stood  looking  at  his  mother  speculatively,  a  little  grin 
on  his  face.  "  I  told  you  you  can't  change  an  Injun 
by  learning  him  to  eat  with  a  knife  and  fork,"  he 
added.  "  Colorou  ain't  any  whiter  than  he  was  be- 
fore you  set  out  to  learn  him  manners.  He  was 
hoppin'  higher  than  any  of  'em." 


Buddy   Gives   Warning         3 1 

"  Teach,  Buddy,  not  learn.  You  know  better  than 
to  say  *  learn  him  manners/  " 

"  Teach  him  manners,"  Buddy  corrected  himself 
obediently.  "  I  was  thinking  more  about  what  I  saw 
than  about  grammar.  Where  's  father  ?  I  guess  I  'd 
better  tell  him.  He  '11  want  to  get  the  stock  out  of  the 
mountains,  I  should  think." 

"  Colorou  will  send  me  word  before  they  take  the 
warpath,"  mother  observed  reassuringly.  "  He  always 
has.  I  gave  him  a  whole  pound  of  tea  and  a  blue 
ribbon  the  last  time  he  was  here." 

"  Yes,  and  the  last  time  they  broke  out  they  got 
away  with  more  *n  a  hundred  head  of  cattle.  You  got 
to  Laramie,  all  right,  but  he  did  n't  tell  father  in  time 
to  make  a  roundup  back  in  the  foothills.  They  're 
dancing,  mother !  " 

"  Well,  I  suppose  we  're  due  for  an  outbreak,'^ 
sighed  mother.  "  Colorou  says  he  can't  hold  his  young 
men  off  when  some  of  the  tribe  have  been  killed.  He 
himself  does  n't  countenance  the  stealing  and  the  occa- 
sional killing  of  white  men.  There  are  bad  Indians 
and  good  ones." 

"  I  know  a  couple  of  good  ones,"  Buddy  murmured 
as  he  made  for  the  wash  basin.  "  It 's  the  bad  ones 
that  were  doing  the  dancing,  mother,"  he  flung  over 
his  shoulder.  "  And  if  I  was  you  I  'd  take  Dulcie  and 
the  cats  and  hit  for  Laramie.  Colorou  might  get 
busy  and  forget  to  send  word !  " 

"  If  I  was  you?  "  Mother  came  up  and  nipped  his 
ear  between  thumb  and  finger.  "  Robert,  I  am  dis- 
couraged over  you.  All  that  I  teach  you  in  the  winter 
seems  to  evaporate  from  your  mind  during  the  summer 
when  you  go  out  riding  with  the  boys." 


32  Cow-Country 

Buddy  wiped  his  face  with  an  up-and-down  motion 
on  the  roller  towel  and  clanked  across  to  the  cupboard 
which  he  opened  investigatively.  "Any  pie?"  he 
questioned  as  he  peered  into  the  corners.  "  Say,  if  I 
had  the  handling  of  those  Utes,  mother,  I  'd  fix  'em 
so  they  would  n't  be  breaking  out  every  few  months 
and  making  folks  leave  their  homes  to  be  pawed  over 
and  burnt,  maybe."  He  found  a  jar  of  fresh  dough- 
nuts and  took  three. 

"  They  '11  tromp  around  on  your  flower-beds  —  it 
just  makes  me  sick  when  I  think  how  they  '11  muss 
things  up  around  here!  I  wish  now,"  he  blurted  un- 
thinkingly, "  that  I  had  n't  killed  the  Injun  that  stole 
Rattler." 

"Buddy!  Not  you?"  His  mother  made  a  swift 
little  run  across  the  kitchen  and  caught  him  on  his  lean, 
hard-muscled  young  shoulders.  "You  —  yon  hahy! 
What  did  you  do  ?  You  did  n't  harm  an  Indian,  did 
you,  laddie  ?  " 

Buddy  tilted  his  head  downward  so  that  she  could 
not  look  into  his  eyes.  "  I  dunno  as  I  harmed  him  — 
much,"  he  said,  wiping  doughnut  crumbs  from  his 
mouth  with  one  hasty  sweep  of  his  forearm.  "  But 
his  horse  came  outa  the  brush,  and  he  never.  I  guess 
I  killed  him,  all  right.  Anyway,  mother,  I  had  to. 
He  took  a  shot  at  me  first.  It  was  the  day  we  lost 
Rattler  and  the  bronks,"  he  added  accurately. 

Mother  did  not  say  anything  for  a  minute,  and 
Buddy  hung  his  head  lower,  dreading  to  see  the  hurt 
look  which  he  felt  was  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  have  to  pack  a  gun  when  I  ride  anywhere,"  he 
reminded  her  defensively.  "  It  ain't  to  balance  me  on 
the  horse,  either.    If  Injuns  take  in  after  me,  the  gun 's 


Buddy   Gives   Warning         33 

so  I  can  shoot.    And  a  feller  don't  shoot  up  in  the  air 

—  and  if  an  Injun  is  hunting  trouble  he  oughta  ex- 
pect that  maybe  he  might  get  shot  sometime.  You  — 
you  would  n't  want  me  to  just  run  and  let  them  catch 
me,  would  you?  " 

Mother's  hand  slipped  up  to  his  head  and  pressed  it 
against  her  breast  so  that  Buddy  heard  her  heart  beat- 
ing steady  and  sweet  and  true.    Mother  was  n't  afraid 

—  never,  never ! 

"  I  know  —  it 's  the  dreadful  necessity  of  defending 
our  lives.  But  you  Ve  so  young  —  just  mother's  baby 
man!" 

Buddy  looked  up  at  her  then,  a  laugh  twinkling  in 
his  eyes.     After  all,  mother  understood. 

"  I  'm  going  to  be  your  baby  man  always  if  you 
want  me  to,  mother,"  he  whispered,  closing  his  arms 
around  her  'neck  in  a  sturdy  hug.  "  But  I  *m  father's 
horse-wrangler,  too.  And  a  horse-wrangler  has  got  to 
hold  up  his  end.  I  —  I  did  n't  want  to  kill  anybody^ 
honest.  But  Injuns  are  different.  You  kill  rattlers, 
and  they  ain't  as  mean  as  Injuns.  That  one  I  shot  at 
was  shooting  at  me  before  I  even  so  much  as  knew 
there  was  one  around.  I  just  shot  back.  Father 
would,  or  anybody  else." 

"  I  know  —  I  know,"  she  conceded,  the  tender  wom- 
anliness of  her  sighing  over  the  need.  In  the  next 
moment  she  was  all  mother,  ready  to  fight  for  her 
young.  "  Buddy,  never,  never  ride  anywhere  without 
your  rifle !  And  a  revolver,  too  —  be  sure  that  it  is  in 
perfect  condition.  And  —  have  you  a  knife?  You  're 
so  little!"  she  wailed.  "But  father  will  need  you, 
and  he  '11  take  care  of  you  —  and  Colorou  would  not 
let  3'ou  be  hurt  if  he  knew.     But — Buddy,  you  must 


34  Cow-Country 

be  careful,  and  always  watching  —  never  let  them 
catch  you  off  your  guard.  I  shall  be  in  Laramie  be- 
fore you  and  father  and  the  boys,  I  suppose,  if  the 
Indians  really  do  break  out.  And  you  must  promise 
me  —  '' 

"  I  '11  promise,  mother.  And  don't  you  go  and  trust 
old  Colorou  an  inch.  He  was  jumping  higher  than 
any  of  'em,  and  shaking  his  tomahawk  and  yelling  — 
he  'd  have  scalped  me  right  there  if  he  'd  seen  me 
watching  'em.  Mother,  I  'm  going  to  find  father  and 
tell  him.  And  you  may  as  well  be  packing  up,  and  — 
don't  leave  my  guitar  for  them  to  smash,  will  you, 
mother?" 

His  mother  laughed  then  and  pushed  him  toward  the 
door.  She  had  an  idea  of  her  own  and  she  did  not 
want  to  be  hindered  now  in  putting  it  into  action.  Up 
the  creek,  in  the  bank  behind  a  clump  of  willows,  was 
a  small  cave  —  or  a  large  niche,  one  might  call  it  — 
where  many  household  treasures  might  be  safely  hid- 
den, if  one  went  carefully,  wading  in  the  creek  to  hide 
the  tracks.  She  followed  Buddy  out,  and  called  to 
Ezra  who  was  chopping  wood  with  a  grunt  for  every 
fall  of  the  axe  and  many  rest-periods  in  the  shade  of 
the  Cottonwood  tree. 

At  the  stable,  Buddy  looked  back  and  saw  her  talk- 
ing earnestly  to  Ezra,  who  stood  nodding  his  head  in 
complete  approval.  Buddy's  knowledge  of  women 
began  and  ended  with  his  mother.  Therefore,  to  him 
all  women  were  wonderful  creatures  whom  men  wor- 
shipped ardently  because  they  were  created  for  the 
adoration  of  lesser  souls.  Buddy  did  not  know  what 
liis  mother  was  going  to  do,  but  he  was  sure  that 
whatever  she  did  would  be  right;  so  he  hoisted  his 


Buddy   Gives   Warning         35 

saddle  on  the  handiest  fresh  horse,  and  loped  oflf  to 
drive  in  the  reniuda,  feeling  certain  that  his  father 
would  move  swiftly  to  save  his  cattle  that  ranged  back 
in  the  foothills,  and  that  the  saddle  horses  would  be 
wanted  at  a  moment's  notice. 

Also,  he  reasoned,  the  range  horses  (mares  and 
colts  and  the  unbroken  geldings)  would  not  be  left  to 
the  mercy  of  the  Indians.  He  did  not  quite  know 
how  his  father  would  manage  it,  but  he  decided  that 
he  would  corral  the  reniuda  first,  and  then  drive  in  the 
other  horses,  that  fed  scattered  in  undisturbed  posses- 
sion of  a  favorite  grassy  creek-bottom  farther  up  the 
Platte. 

The  saddle  horses,  accustomed  to  Buddy's  driving, 
were  easily  corralled.  The  other  horses  were  fat  and 
"  sassy "  and  resented  his  coming  among  them  with 
the  shrill  whoop  of  authority.  They  gave  him  a  hot 
hour's  riding  before  they  finally  bunched  and  went 
tearing  down  the  river  bottom  toward  the  ranch. 
Even  so.  Buddy  left  two  of  the  wildest  careening  up  a 
narrow  gulch.  He  had  not  attempted  to  ride  after 
them;  not  because  he  was  afraid  of  Indians,  for  he 
was  not.  The  war-dance  held  every  young  buck  and 
every  old  one  in  camp  beyond  the  Pass.  But  the 
margin  of  safety  might  be  narrow,  and  Buddy  was 
taking  no  chances  that  day. 

When  he  was  convinced  that  it  was  impossible  for 
one  boy  to  be  in  half  a  dozen  places  at  once,  and  that 
the  cowboys  would  be  needed  to  corral  the  range 
bunch,  Buddy  whooped  them  all  down  the  creek  be- 
low the  home  ranch  and  let  them  go  just  as  his  father 
came  riding  up  to  the  corral. 

"  They  're  war-dancing,  father,"  Buddy  shouted  ea- 


36  Cow-Country 

gerly,  slipping  off  his  horse  and  wiping  away  the  trickles 
of  perspiration  with  a  handkerchief  not  much  redder 
than  his  face.  "  I  drove  all  the  horses  down,  so  they  'd 
be  handy.  Them  range  horses  are  pretty  wild.  There 
was  two  I  could  n't  get.    What  '11  I  do  now  ?  " 

Bob  Birnie  looked  at  his  youngest  rider  and 
smoothed  his  beard  with  one  hand.  "  You  're  an  am- 
bitious lad,  Buddy.  It 's  the  Utes  you  're  meaning  — 
or  is  it  the  horses  ?  " 

Buddy  lifted  his  head  and  stared  at  his  father  dis- 
approvingly. 

"  Colorou  is  going  to  break  out.  I  know.  They  've 
got  their  war  paint  all  on  and  they  're  dancing.  I  saw 
them  myself.  I  was  going  after  the  gloves  Colorou's 
squav/  was  making  for  me,  —  but  I  did  n't  get  'em.  I 
laid  in  the  brush  and  watched  'em  dance."  He  stopped 
and  looked  again  doubtfully  at  his  father.  "  I  thought 
you  might  want  to  get  the  cattle  outa  the  way,"  he 
added.    "I  thought  I  could  save  some  time  —  " 

"  You  're  sure  about  the  paint  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  'm  sure.  And  Colorou  was  just  a-going  it 
with  his  w^ar  bonnet  on  and  shaking  his  tomahawk  and 
yelling  —  " 

"  Ye  did  well,  lad.  We  '11  be  leaving  for  Big  Creek 
to-night,  so  run  away  now  and  rest  yourself." 

"  Oh^  and  can  I  go  ? "  Buddy's  voice  was  shrill 
with  eagerness. 

"  I  '11  need  you,  lad,  to  look  after  the  horses.  It 
will  give  me  one  more  hand  with  the  cattle.  Now  go 
tell  Step-and-a-Half  to  make  ready  for  a  week  on  the 
trail,  and  to  have  supper  early  so  he  can  make  his 
start  with  the  rest." 

Buddy  walked  stiffly  away  to  the  cook's  cabin  where 


Buddy  Gives  Warning         37 

Step-and-a-Half  sat  leisurely  gouging  the  worst  blem- 
ishes out  of  soft,  old  potatoes  with  a  chronic  tendency 
to  grow  sprouts,  before  he  peeled  them  for  supper. 
His  crippled  leg  was  thrust  out  straight,  his  hat  was 
perched  precariously  over  one  ear  because  of  the  slant- 
ing sun  rays  through  the  window,  and  a  half -smoked 
cigarette  waggled  uncertainly  in  the  corner  of  his 
mouth  while  he  sang  dolefully  a  most  optimistic  ditty 
of  the  West : 

"  O  give  me  a  home  where  the  buff-alo  roam, 
Where  the  deer  and  the  antelope  play. 
Where  never  is  heard  a  discouraging  word 
And  the  sky  is  not  cloudy  all  day." 

"  You  're  going  to  hear  a  discouraging  word  right 
now,"  Buddy  broke  in  ruthlessly  upon  the  song. 
Whereupon,  with  a  bit  of  importance  in  his  voice  and 
in  his  manner,  he  proceeded  to  spoil  Step-and-a-Half*s 
disposition  and  to  deepen,  if  that  were  possible,  his 
loathing  of  Indians.  Too  often  had  he  made  dubious 
soup  of  his  dishwater  and  the  leavings  from  a  roundup 
crew's  dinner,  and  watched  blanketed  bucks  smack 
lips  over  the  mess,  to  run  from  them  now  without 
feeling  utterly  disgusted  with  life.  Step-and-a-Half's 
vituperations  could  be  heard  above  the  clatter  of  pots 
and  pans  as  he  made  ready  for  the  journey. 

That  night's  ride  up  the  pass  through  the  narrow 
range  of  high-peaked  hills  to  the  Tomahawk's  farthest 
range  on  Big  Creek  was  a  tedious  affair  to  Buddy.  A 
man  had  been  sent  on  a  fast  horse  to  warn  the  nearest 
neighbor,  who  in  turn  would  warn  the  next,  —  until  no 
settler  would  be  left  in  ignorance  of  his  danger.  Ezra 
was  already  on  the  trail  to  Laramie,  with  mother  and 


38  Cow-Country 

Dulcie  and  the  cats  and  a  slat  box  full  of  chickens, 

and  a  young  sow  with  little  pigs. 

Buddy,  whose  word  no  one  had  questioned,  who 
might  pardonably  have  considered  himself  a  hero,  was 
concerned  chiefly  with  his  mother's  flower  garden 
which  he  had  helped  to  plant  and  had  watered  more  or 
less  faithfully  with  creek  water  carried  in  buckets.  He 
was  afraid  the  Indians  would  step  on  the  poppies  and 
the  phlox,  and  trample  down  the  four  o'clocks  which 
were  just  beginning  to  branch  out  and  look  nice  and 
bushy,  and  to  blossom.  The  scent  of  the  four  o'clocks 
had  been  in  his  nostrils  when  he  came  out  at  dusk 
with  his  fur  overcoat  which  mother  had  told  him  must 
not  be  left  behind.  Buddy  himself  merely  liked  flow- 
ers: but  mother  talked  to  them  and  kissed  them  just 
for  love,  and  pitied  them  if  Buddy  forgot  and  let  them 
go  thirsty.  He  would  have  stayed  to  fight  for  moth- 
er's flower  garden,  if  it  would  have  done  any  good. 

He  was  thinking  sleepily  that  next  year  he  would 
plant  flowers  in  boxes  that  could  be  carried  to  the  cave 
if  the  Indians  broke  out  again,  when  Tex  Farley  poked 
him  in  the  ribs  and  told  him  to  wake  up  or  he  'd  fall 
off  his  horse.  It  was  a  weary  climb  to  the  top  of  the 
range  that  divided  the  valley  of  Big  Creek  from  the 
North  Platte,  and  a  wearier  climb  down.  Twice 
Buddy  caught  himself  on  the  verge  of  toppling  out  of 
the  saddle.  For  after  all  he  was  only  a  thirteen-year- 
old  boy,  growing  like  any  other  healthy  young  animal. 
He  had  been  riding  hard  that  day  and  half  of  the  pre- 
ceding night  when  he  had  raced  back  from  the  Reser- 
vation to  give  warning  of  the  impending  outbreak.  He 
needed  sleep,  and  nature  was  determined  that  he  should 
have  it. 


CHAPTER    FIVE 
Buddy  Runs  True  to  Type 

One  never  could  predict  with  any  certainty  how 
long  Indians  would  dance  before  they  actually  took 
the  trail  of  murder  and  pillage.  So  much  depended 
upon  the  Medicine,  so  much  on  signs  and  portents.  It 
was  even  possible  that  they  might,  for  some  mysteri- 
ous reason  unknown  to  their  white  neighbors,  decide 
at  the  last  moment  to  bide  their  time.  The  Tomahawk 
outfit  worked  from  dawn  until  dark,  and  combed  the 
foothills  of  the  Snowies  hurriedly,  riding  into  the  most 
frequented,  grassy  basins  and  wide  canyons  where 
the  grass  was  lush  and  sweet  and  the  mountain  streams 
rushed  noisily  over  rocks.  As  fast  as  the  cattle  were 
gathered  they  were  pushed  hastily  toward  the  Platte. 
And  though  the  men  rode  warily  with  rifles  as  handy 
as  their  ropes,  they  rode  in  peace. 

Buddy,  proud  of  his  job,  counting  himself  as  good 
a  man  as  any  of  them,  became  a  small  riding  demon 
after  rebellious  saddle  horses,  herding  them  away  from 
thick  undergrowth  that  might,  for  all  he  knew,  hold 
Indians  waiting  a  chance  to  scalp  him,  driving  the 
remuda  close  to  the  cabins  when  night  fell,  because  no 
man  could  be  spared  for  night  herding,  sleeping  lightly 
as  a  cat  beside  a  mouse  hole.    He  did  not  say  much, 


40  Cow-Country 

perhaps  because  everyone  was  too  busy  to  talk,  him- 
self included. 

Men  rode  in  at  night  dog-weary,  pulled  their  sad- 
dles and  hurried  stiffly  to  the  cabin  where  Step-and-a- 
Half  was  showing  his  true  worth  as  a  cook  who  could 
keep  the  coffee-pot  boiling  and  yet  be  ready  to  pack 
up  and  go  at  the  first  rifle-shot.  They  would  bolt 
down  enormous  quantities  of  bannock  and  boiled  beef, 
swallow  their  coffee  hot  enough  to  scald  a  hog,  and 
stretch  themselves  out  immediately  to  sleep. 

Buddy  would  be  up  and  on  his  horse  in  the  clear 
starlight  before  dawn,  with  a  cup  of  coffee  swallowed 
to  hearten  him  for  the  chilly  ride  after  the  remuda. 
Even  with  the  warmth  of  the  coffee  his  teeth  would 
chatter  just  at  first,  and  he  would  ride  with  his  thin 
shoulders  lifted  and  a  hand  in  a  pocket.  He  could  not 
sing  or  whistle  to  keep  himself  company.  He  must 
ride  in  silence  until  he  had  counted  every  dark,  moving 
shape  and  knew  that  the  herd  was  complete,  then  ease 
them  quietly  to  camp. 

On  the  fourth  morning  he  rode  anxiously  up  the 
valley,  fearing  that  the  horses  had  been  stolen  in  the 
night,  yet  hoping  they  had  merely  strayed  up  the  creek 
to  find  fresh  pastures.  A  light  breeze  that  carried  the 
keen  edge  of  frost  made  his  nose  tingle.  His  horse 
trotted  steadily  forward,  as  keen  on  the  trail  as  Buddy 
himself;  keener,  for  he  would  be  sure  to  give  warning 
of  danger.  So  they  rounded  a  bend  in  the  creek  and 
came  upon  the  scattered  fringe  of  the  remuda  cropping 
steadily  at  the  meadow  grass  there. 

Buddy  circled  them,  glancing  now  and  then  at  the 
ridge  beyond  the  valley.  It  seemed  somehow  un- 
natural—  lower,   with  the  stars    showing  along  its 


Buddy   Runs   True  to   Type      41 

wooded  crest  in  a  row,  as  if  there  were  no  peaks. 
Then  quite  suddenly  he  knew  that  the  ridge  was  the 
same,  and  that  the  stars  he  saw  were  little,  breakfast 
camp-fires.  His  heart  gave  a  jump  when  he  realized 
how  many  little  fires  there  were,  and  knew  that  the 
dance  was  over.  The  Indians  had  left  the  reservation 
arid  had  crossed  the  ridge  yesterday,  and  had  camped 
there  to  wait  for  the  dawn. 

While  he  gathered  his  horses  together  he  guessed 
how  old  Colorou  had  planned  to  catch  the  Tomahawk 
riders  when  they  left  camp  and  scattered,  two  by  two, 
on  "  circle."  He  had  held  his  band  well  out  of  sight 
and  sound  of  the  Big  Creek  cabin,  and  if  the  horses 
had  not  strayed  up  the  creek  in  the  night  he  would 
have  caught  the  white  men  ofif  their  guard. 

Buddy  looked  often  over  his  shoulder  while  he  drove 
the  horses  down  the  creek.  It  seemed  stranger  than 
luck,  that  he  had  been  compelled  to  ride  so  far  on  this 
particular  morning;  as  if  mother's  steadfast  faith  in 
prayer  and  the  guardianship  of  angels  was  justified 
by  actual  facts.  Still,  Buddy  was  too  hard-headed  to 
assume  easily  that  angels  had  driven  the  horses  up  the 
creek  so  that  he  would  have  to  ride  up  there  and  dis- 
cover the  Indian  fires.  If  angels  could  do  that,  why 
had  n't  they  stopped  Colorou  from  going  on  the  war- 
path ?     It  would  have  been  simpler,  in  Buddy's  opinion. 

He  did  not  mention  the  angel  problem  to  his  father, 
however.  Bob  Birnie  was  eating  breakfast  with  his 
men  when  Buddy  rode  up  to  the  cabin  and  told  the 
news.  The  boys  did  not  say  anything  much,  but  they 
may  have  taken  bigger  bites  by  way  of  filling  their 
stomachs  in  less  time  than  usual. 

"  I  '11  go  see  for  myself,"  said  Bob  Birnie.     "You 


42  Cow-Country 

boys  saddle  up  and  be  ready  to  start.  If  it 's  Indians, 
we  '11  head  for  Laramie  and  drive  everything  before  us 
as  we  go.  But  the  lad  may  be  wrong."  He  took  the 
reins  from  Buddy,  mounted,  and  rode  away,  his  booted 
feet  hanging  far  below  Buddy's  short  stirrups. 

Speedily  he  was  back,  and  the  scowl  on  his  face  told 
plainly  enough  that  Buddy  had  not  been  mistaken. 

"  They  're  coming  off  the  ridge  already,"  he  an- 
nounced grimly.  "  I  heard  their  horses  among  the 
rocks  up  there.  They  think  to  come  down  on  us  at 
sunrise.  There  '11  be  too  many  for  us  to  hold  off,  I  'm 
thinking.  Get  ye  a  fresh  horse,  Buddy,  and  drive  the 
horses  down  the  creek  fast  as  ye  can." 

Buddy  uncoiled  his  rope  and  ran  with  his  mouth  full 
to  do  as  he  was  told.  He  did  not  think  he  was  scared, 
exactly,  but  he  made  three  throws  to  get  the  horse  he 
wanted,  blaming  the  poor  light  for  his  ill  luck;  and 
then  found  himself  in  possession  of  a  tall,  uneasy 
brown  that  Dick  Grimes  had  broken  and  sometimes 
rode.  Buddy  would  have  turned  him  loose  and  caught 
another,  but  the  horses  had  sensed  the  suppressed  ex- 
citement of  the  men  and  were  circling  and  snorting  in 
the  half  light  of  dawn;  so  Buddy  led  out  the  brown, 
pulled  the  saddle  from  the  sweaty  horse  that  had  twice 
made  the  trip  up  the  creek,  and  heaved  it  hastily  on 
the  brown's  back.  Dick  Grimes  called  to  him,  to  know 
if  he  wanted  any  help,  and  Buddy  yelled,  "  No!  " 

"Here  they  come  —  damn  'em —  turn  the  bunch 
loose  and  ride!  "  called  Bob  Birnie  as  a  shrill,  yelling 
war-whoop,  like  the  yapping  of  many  coyotes,  sounded 
from  the  cottonwoods  that  bordered  the  creek.  "  Yuh 
all  right.  Buddy?" 

"  Yeah  —  I  'm  a-comin',"   shrilled   Buddy,   hastily 


Buddy   Runs   True   to   Type      4J 

looping  the  latigo.  Just  then  the  sharp  staccato  of 
rifle-shots  mingled  with  the  whooping  of  the  Indians. 
Buddy  was  reaching  for  the  saddle  horn  when  the 
brown  horse  ducked  and  jerked  loose.  Before  Buddy 
realized  what  was  happening  the  brown  horse,  the 
herd  and  all  the  riders  were  pounding  away  down  the 
valley,  the  men  firing  back  at  the  cottonwoods. 

In  the  dust  and  clamor  of  their  departure  Buddy 
stood  perfectly  still  for  a  minute,  trying  to  grasp  the 
full  significance  of  his  calamity.  Step-and-a-Half  had 
packed  hastily  and  departed  ahead  of  them  all.  His 
father  and  the  cowboys  were  watching  the  Cottonwood 
grove  many  rods  to  Buddy's  right  and  well  in  the  back- 
ground, and  they  would  not  glance  his  way.  Even  if 
they  did  they  would  not  see  him,  and  if  they  saw  him 
it  would  be  madness  to  ride  back  —  though  there  was 
not  a  man  among  them  who  would  not  have  wheeled 
in  his  tracks  and  returned  for  Buddy  in  the  very  face 
of  Colorou  and  his  band. 

From  the  cottonwoods  came  the  pound  of  gallop- 
ing hoofs.  "Angels  nothing!^'  cried  Buddy  in  deep 
disgust  and  scuttled  for  the  cabin. 

The  cabin,  he  knew  as  he  ran,  was  just  then  the 
worst  place  in  the  world  for  a  boy  who  wanted  very 
much  to  go  on  living.  Through  its  gaping  doorway 
he  saw  a  few  odds  and  ends  of  food  lying  on  the  table, 
but  he  dared  not  stop  long  enough  to  get  them.  The 
Indians  were  thundering  down  to  the  corral,  and  as  he 
rounded  the  cabin's  corner  he  glanced  back  and  saw 
the  foremost  riders  whipping  their  horses  on  the  trail 
of  the  fleeing  white  men.  But  some,  he  knew,  would 
stop.  Even  the  prospect  of  fresh  scalps  could  not  hold 
the  greedy  ones  from  prowling  around  a  white  man's 


44  Cow-Country 

dwelling  place.  There  might  be  tobacco  or  whiskey- 
left  behind,  or  something  with  color  or  a  shine  to  it. 
Buddy  knew  well  the  ways  of  Indians. 

He  made  for  the  creek,  thinking  at  first  to  hide 
somewhere  in  the  brush  along  the  bank.  Then,  fear- 
ing the  brightening  light  of  day  and  the  wide  space  he 
must  cross  to  reach  the  first  fringe  of  brush,  he  stopped 
at  a  dugout  cellar  that  had  been  built  into  the  creek 
bank  above  high-water  mark.  There  was  a  pole-and- 
dirt  roof,  and  because  the  dirt  sifted  down  between  the 
poles  whenever  the  wind  blew  —  which  was  always  — 
the  place  had  been  crudely  ceiled  inside  with  split  poles 
overlapping  one  another.  The  ceiling  was  more  or  less 
flat;  the  roof  had  a  slight  slope.  In  the  middle  of 
the  tiny  attic  thus  formed  Buddy  managed  to 
worm  his  body  through  a  hole  in  the  gable  next  to  the 
creek. 

He  wriggled  back  to  the  end  next  the  cabin  and  lay 
there  very  flat  and  very  quiet,  peeping  out  through  a 
half -inch  crack,  too  wise  in  the  ways  of  silence  to 
hold  his  breath  until  he  must  heave  a  sigh  to  relieve 
his  lungs.  It  was  hard  to  breathe  naturally  and  easily 
after  that  swift  dash,  but  somehow  he  did  it.  An 
Indian  had  swerved  and  ridden  behind  the  cabin,  and 
was  leaning  and  peering  in  all  directions  to  see  if  any- 
one had  remained.  Perhaps  he  suspected  an  ambush ; 
Buddy  was  absolutely  certain  that  the  fellow  was  look- 
ing for  him,  personally,  and  that  he  had  seen  Buddy 
run  toward  the  creek. 

It  was  not  a  pleasant  thought,  and  the  fact  that  he 
knew  that  buck  Indian  by  name,  and  had  once  traded 
him  a  jackknife  for  a  beautifully  tanned  wolf  skin  for 
his  mother,  did  not  make  it  pleasanter.     Hides-the- 


Buddy   Runs   True  to   Type      45 

face  would  not  let  past  friendliness  stand  in  the  way 
of  a  killing. 

Presently  Hides-the-face  dismounted  and  tied  his 
horse  to  a  corner  log  of  the  cabin,  and  went  inside 
with  the  others  to  see  what  he  could  find  that  could  be 
eaten  or  carried  off.  Buddy  saw  fresh  smoke  issue 
from  the  stone  chimney,  and  guessed  that  Step-and-a- 
Half  had  left  something  that  could  be  cooked.  It  be- 
came evident,  in  the  course  of  an  hour  or  so,  that  his 
presence  was  absolutely  unsuspected,  and  Buddy  began 
to  watch  them  more  composedly,  silently  promising 
especial  forms  of  punishment  to  this  one  and  that  one 
whom  he  knew.  Most  of  them  had  been  to  the  ranch 
many  times,  and  he  could  have  called  to  a  dozen  of 
them  by  name.  They  had  sat  in  his  father's  cabin  or 
stood  immobile  just  within  the  door,  and  had  listened 
while  his  mother  played  and  sang  for  them.  She  had 
fed  them  cakes  —  Buddy  remembered  the  good  things 
which  mother  had  given  these  despicable  ones  who 
were  looting  and  gobbling  and  destroying  like  a  drove 
of  hogs  turned  loose  in  a  garden,  and  the  thought  of 
her  wasted  kindness  turned  him  sick  with  rage. 
Mother  had  believed  in  their  friendliness.  Buddy 
wished  that  mother  could  see  them  setting  fire  to  the 
low,  log  stable  and  the  corral,  and  swarming  in  and 
out  of  the  cabin. 

Painted  for  war  they  were,  with  red  stripes  across 
their  foreheads,  ribs  outlined  in  red  which,  when  they 
loosened  their  blankets  as  the  sun  warmed  them,  gave 
them  a  fantastic  likeness  to  the  skeletons  Buddy  wished 
they  were;  red  stripes  on  their  arms,  the  number 
showing  their  rank  in  the  tribe;  open-seated,  buck- 
skin breeches  to  their  knees  where  they  met  the  tightly 


46  Cow-Country 

wrapped  leggings ;  moccasins  laced  snugly  at  the  ankle 
—  they  were  picturesque  enough  to  any  eyes  but 
Buddy's.  He  saw  the  ghoulish  greed  in  their  eyes, 
heard  it  in  their  voices  when  they  shouted  to  one 
another;  and  he  hated  them  even  more  than  he  feared 
them. 

Much  that  they  said  he  understood.  They  were 
cursing  the  Tomahawk  outfit,  chiefly  because  the  men 
had  not  waited  there  to  be  surprised  and  killed.  They 
cursed  his  father  in  particular,  and  were  half  sorry 
that  they  had  not  ridden  on  in  pursuit  with  the  others. 
They  hoped  no  white  man  would  ride  alive  to  Laramie. 
It  made  cheerful  listening  to  Buddy,  flat  on  his  stomach 
in  the  roof  of  the  dugout ! 

After  a  while,  when  the  cabin  had  been  gutted  of 
everything  it  contained  save  the  crude  table  and 
benches,  a  few  Indians  brought  burning  brands  from 
the  stable  and  set  it  afire.  They  were  very  busy  in- 
side and  out,  making  sure  that  the  flames  took  hold 
properly.  Then,  when  the  dry  logs  began  to  blaze  and 
flames  licked  the  edges  of  the  roof,  they  stood  back 
and  watched  it. 

Buddy  saw  Hides-the-face  glance  speculatively 
toward  the  dugout,  and  slipped  his  hand  back  where 
he  could  reach  his  six-shooter.  He  felt  pretty  certain 
that  they  meant  to  demolish  the  dugout  next,  and  he 
knew  exactly  what  he  meant  to  do.  He  had  heard  men  at 
the  posts  talk  of  "selling  their  lives  dearly",  and  that 
is  what  he  intended  to  do. 

He  was  not  going  to  be  in  too  much  of  a  hurry;  he 
would  wait  until  they  actually  began  on  the  dugout  — 
and  when  they  were  on  tlhe  bank  within  a  few  feet  of 
him,  and  he  saw  that  there  was  no  getting  away  from 


Buddy   Runs   True   to   Type      47 

death,  he  meant  to  shoot  five  Indians,  and  himself  last 
of  all. 

Tentatively  he  felt  of  his  temple  where  he  meant  to 
place  the  muzzle  of  the  gun  when  there  was  just  one 
bullet  left.  It  was  so  nice  and  smooth  —  he  won- 
dered if  God  would  really  help  him  out,  if  he  said  Our 
Father  with  a  pure  heart  and  with  faith,  as  his  mother 
said  one  must  pray.  He  was  slightly  doubtful  of  both 
conditions,  when  he  came  to  think  of  it  seriously. 
This  spring  he  had  felt  grown-up  enough  to  swear  a 
little  at  the  horses,  sometimes  —  and  he  was  not  sure 
that  shooting  the  Indian  that  time  would  not  be 
counted  a  crime  by  God,  who  loved  all  His  creatures. 
Mother  always  stuck  to  it  that  Injuns  were  God*s 
creatures  —  which  brought  Buddy  squarely  against  the 
incredible  assumption  that  God  must  love  them.  He 
did  not  in  the  least  mean  to  be  irreverent,  but  when  he 
watched  those  painted  bucks  his  opinion  of  God 
changed  slightly.  He  decided  that  he  himself  was 
neither  pure  nor  full  of  faith,  and  that  he  would  not 
pray  just  yet.  He  would  let  God  go  ahead  and  do  as 
He  pleased  about  it;  except  that  Buddy  would  never 
let  those  Indians  get  him  alive,  no  matter  what  God 
expected. 

Hides-the-face  walked  over  toward  the  dugout. 
Buddy  crooked  his  left  arm  and  laid  the  gun  barrel 
across  it  to  get  a  "dead  rest"  and  leave  nothing  to 
chance.  Hides-the-face  stared  at  the  dugout,  moved 
to  one  side  —  and  the  muzzle  of  the  gun  followed, 
keeping  its  aim  directly  at  the  left  edge  of  his  breast- 
bone as  outlined  with  the  red  paint.  Hides-the-face 
craned,  stepped  into  the  path  down  the  bank  and 
passed  out  of  range.    Buddy  gritted  his  teeth  malevo- 


48  Cow-Country 

lently  and  waited,  his  ears  strained  to  catch  and  in- 
terpret the  meaning  of  every  soft  sound  made  by 
Hides-the-face's  moccasins. 

Hides-the-face  cautiously  pushed  open  the  door  of 
the  cellar  and  looked  in,  standing  for  interminable 
minutes,  as  is  the  leisurely  way  of  Indians  when  there 
is  no  great  need  of  haste.  Buddy  cautiously  lowered 
his  face  and  peered  down  like  a  mouse  from  the  thatch, 
but  he  could  not  handily  bring  his  gun  to  bear  upon 
Hides-the-face,  who  presently  turned  back  and  went 
up  the  path,  his  shoulder-muscles  moving  snakishly 
tinder  his  brown  skin  as  he  climbed  the  bank. 

Hides-the-face  returned  to  the  others  and  announced 
that  there  was  a  place  where  they  could  camp.  Buddy 
could  not  hear  all  that  he  said,  and  Hides-the-face  had 
his  back  turned  so  that  not  all  of  his  signs  were  in- 
telligible ;  but  he  gathered  that  these  particular  Indians 
had  chosen  or  had  been  ordered  to  wait  here  for  three 
suns,  and  that  the  cellar  appealed  to  Hides-the-face  as 
a  shelter  in  case  it  stormed. 

Buddy  did  not  know  whether  to  rejoice  at  the  news 
or  to  mourn.  They  would  not  destroy  the  dugout,  so 
he  need  not  shoot  himself,  which  was  of  course  a 
relief.  Still,  three  suns  meant  three  days  and  nights, 
and  the  prospect  of  lying  there  on  his  stomach,  afraid 
to  move  for  that  length  of  time,  almost  amounted  to 
the  same  thing  in  the  end.  He  did  not  believe  that  he 
could  hold  out  that  long,  though  of  course  he  would 
try  pretty  hard. 

All  that  day  Buddy  lay  watching  through  the  crack, 
determined  to  take  any  chance  that  came  his  way. 
None  came.  The  Indians  loitered  in  the  shade,  and 
some  slept    But  always  two  or  three  remained  awake ; 


Buddy  Runs  True  to  Type     49 

and  although  they  sat  apparently  ready  to  doze  off  at 
any  minute,  Buddy  knew  them  too  well  to  hope  for 
such  good  luck.  Two  Indians  rode  in  toward  evening 
dragging  a  calf  that  had  been  overlooked  in  the 
roundup ;  and  having  improvidently  burned  the  cabin, 
the  meat  was  cooked  over  the  embers  which  still 
smouldered  in  places  where  knots  in  the  logs  made 
slow  fuel. 

Buddy  watched  them  hungrily,  wondering  how  long 
it  took  to  starve. 

When  it  was  growing  dark  he  tried  to  keep  in  mind 
the  exact  positions  of  the  Indians,  and  to  discover 
whether  a  guard  would  be  placed  over  the  camp,  or 
whether  they  felt  safe  enough  to  sleep  without  a  sen- 
tinel. Hides-the-face  he  had  long  ago  decided  was  in 
charge  of  the  party,  and  Hides-the-face  was  seem- 
ingly concerned  only  with  gorging  himself  on  the  half- 
roasted  meat.  Buddy  hoped  he  would  choke  himself, 
but  Hides-the-face  was  very  good  at  gulping  half- 
chewed  hunks  and  finished  without  disaster. 

Then  he  grunted  something  to  someone  in  the  dark, 
and  there  was  movement  in  the  group.  Buddy  ground 
his  growing  *'  second "  teeth  together,  clenched  his 
fist  and  said  "  Damn  it !  "  three  times  in  a  silent  cres- 
cendo of  rage  because  he  could  neither  see  nor  hear 
w^hat  took  place;  and  immediately  he  repented  his 
profanity,  remembering  that  God  could  hear  him.  In 
Buddy's  opinion,  you  never  could  be  sure  about  God; 
He  bestowed  mysterious  mercies  and  strange  punish- 
ments, and  His  ways  were  past  finding  out.  Buddy 
tipped  his  palms  together  and  repeated  all  the  prayers 
his  mother  had  taught  him  and  then,  with  a  flash  of 
memory,  finished  with  "Oh,  God,  please!*'    just  as 


50  Cow-Country 

mother  had  done  long  ago  on  the  dry  drive.  After 
that  he  meditated  uncomfortably  for  a  few  minutes 
and  added  in  a  faint  whisper,  "  Oh,  shucks !  You  don't 
want  to  pay  any  attention  to  a  fellow  cussing  a  little 
when  he's  mad.  I  could  easy  make  that  up  if  you 
helped  me  out  some  way/' 

Buddy  believed  afterwards  that  God  yielded  to  per- 
suasion and  decided  to  givje  him  a  chance.  For  not 
more  than  five  minutes  passed  when  a  far-off  murmur 
grew  to  an  indefinable  roar,  and  the  wind  whooped 
down  off  the  Snowies  so  fiercely  that  even  the  dugout 
quivered  a  little  and  rattled  dirt  down  on  Buddy 
through  the  poles  just  over  his  head. 

At  first  this  seemed  an  unlucky  circumstance,  for 
the  Indians  came  down  into  the  dugout  for  shelter, 
and  now  Buddy  was  afraid  to  breathe  in  the  quiet  in- 
tervals between  the  gusts.  Just  below  him  he  could 
hear  the  occasional  mutters  of  laconic  sentences  and 
grunted  answers  as  the  bucks  settled  themselves  for 
the  night,  and  he  had  a  short,  panicky  spell  of  fearing 
that  the  poles  would  give  way  beneath  him  and  drop 
him  in  upon  them. 

After  a  while  —  it  seemed  hours  to  Buddy  —  the 
wind  settled  down  to  a  steady  gale.  The  Indians,  so  ; 
far  as  he  could  determine,  were  all  asleep  in  the  cellar. 
And  Buddy,  setting  his  teeth  hard  together,  began  to 
slide  slowly  backward  toward  the  opening  through 
wrhich  he  had  crawled  into  the  roof.  When  he  had 
crawled  in  he  had  not  noticed  the  springiness  of  the 
poles,  but  now  his  imagination  tormented  him  with  the 
sensation  of  sagging  and  swaying.  When  his  feet 
pushed  through  the  opening  he  had  to  grit  his  teeth  to 
hold  himself  steady.     It  seemed  as  if  someone  were 


Buddy   Runs   True   to   Type      51 

reaching  up  in  the  dark  to  catch  him  by  the  legs  and 
pull  him  out.  Nothing  happened,  however,  and  after 
a  little  he  inched  backward  until  he  hung  with  his 
elbows  hooked  desperately  inside  the  opening,  his  head 
and  shoulders  within  and  protesting  with  every  nerve 
against  leaving  the  shelter. 

Buddy  said  afterwards  that  he  guessed  he  'd  have 
hung  there  until  daylight,  only  he  was  afraid  it  was 
about  time  to  change  guard,  and  somebody  might  catch 
him.  But  he  said  he  was  scared  to  let  go  and  drop, 
because  it  must  have  been  pretty  crowded  in  the  cellar, 
and  he  knew  the  door  was  open,  and  some  buck  might 
be  roosting  outside  handy  to  be  stepped  ori.  But  he 
knew  he  had  to  do  something,  because  if  he  ever  went 
to  sleep  up  in  that  place  he  'd  snore,  maybe ;  and  any- 
way, he  said,  he'd  rather  run  himself  to  death  than 
starve  to  death.    So  he  dropped. 

It  was  two  days  after  that  when  Buddy  shuffled  into 
a  mining  camp  on  the  ridge  just  north  of  Douglas 
Pass.  He  was  still  on  his  feet,  but  they  dragged  like 
an  old  man's.  He  had  walked  twenty-five  miles  in 
two  nights,  going  carefully,  in  fear  of  Indians.  The 
first  five  miles  he  had  waded  along  the  shore  of  the 
creek,  he  said,  in  case  they  might  pick  up  his  tracks 
at  the  dugout  and  try  to  follow  him.  He  had  hidden 
himself  like  a  rabbit  in  the  brush  through  the  day,  and 
he  had  not  dared  shoot  any  meat,  wherefore  he  had 
not  eaten  anything. 

"  I  ain't  as  hungry  as  I  was  at  first,"  he  grinned 
tremulously.  "  But  I  guess  I  better  —  eat.  I  don't 
want  —  to  lose  tJhe  —  habit  —  "  Then  he  went  slack, 
and  a  man  swearing  to  hide  his  pity  picked  him  up  in 
his  arms  and  carried  him  into  the  tent. 


CHAPTER    SIX 
The  Young  Eagle  Must  Fly 

**  You  ^RE  of  age,"  said  Bob  Birnie,  sucking  hard  at 
his  pipe.  *'  You  've  had  your  schooling  as  your  mother 
wished  that  you  should  have  it.  You  Ve  got  the  music 
in  your  head  and  your  fingers  and  your  toes,  and  that 's 
as  your  mother  wished  that  you  should  have. 

"  Your  mother  would  have  you  be  all  for  music,  and 
make  tunes  out  of  your  own  head.  She  tells  me  that 
you  have  made  tunes  and  written  them  down  on  paper, 
and  that  there  are  those  who  would  buy  them  and  print 
copies  to  sell,  with  your  name  at  the  top  of  the  page. 
I  '11  not  say  what  I  think  of  that  —  your  mother  is  an 
angel  among  women,  and  she  has  taught  you  the 
things  she  loves  hersel*. 

"  But  my  business  is  with  the  cattle,  and  I  Ve  liad 
you  out  with  me  since  you  could  climb  on  the  back  of 
a  horse.  I  Ve  watched  you,  with  the  rope  and  the 
irons  and  in  the  saddle  and  all.  You  Ve  been  in  tight 
places  that  would  try  the  mettle  of  a  man  grown  —  I 
mind  the  time  ye  escaped  Colorou's  band,  and  we 
thought  ye  dead  'til  ye  came  to  us  in  Laramie.  You  Ve 
showed  that  you  Ve  able  to  hold  your  own  on  the  range, 
lad.  Your  mother 's  all  for  the  music  —  but  I  leave  it 
to  you. 

"  Ten  thousand  dollars  I  '11  give  ye,  if  that 's  your 


The  Young  Eagle   Must   Fly      53 

wish,  and  you  can  go  to  Europe  as  she  wishes  and 
study  and  make  tunes  for  others  to  play.  Or  if  ye 
prefer  it,  I  '11  brand  you  a  herd  of  she  stock  and  let  ye 
go  your  ways.  No  son  of  mine  can  take  orders  from 
his  father  after  he  's  a  man  grown,  and  I  'm  not  to  the 
age  where  I  can  sit  with  the  pipe  from  morning  to 
night  and  let  another  run  my  outfit.  I  Ve  talked  it 
over  with  your  mother,  and  she  Ul  bide  by  your  de- 
cision, as  I  shall  do. 

"  So  I  put  it  in  a  nutshell,  Robert.  You  Ve 
twenty-one  to-day ;  a  man  grown,  and  husky  as  they  're 
made.  'Tis  time  you  faced  the  world  and  lived  your 
life.  You've  been  a  good  lad  —  as  lads  go."  He 
stopped  there  to  rub  his  jaw  thoughtfully,  perhaps 
remembering  certain  incidents  in  Buddy's  full-flavored 
past.  Buddy — grown  to  plain  Bud  among  his  fel- 
lows—  turned  red  without  losing  the  line  of  hardness 
that  had  come  to  his  lips. 

"  You  're  of  legal  age  to  be  called  a  man,  and  the 
future  's  before  ye.  I  '11  give  ye  five  hundred  cows 
with  their  calves  beside  them  —  you  can  choose  them 
yourself,  for  you  Ve  a  sharp  eye  for  stock  —  and  you 
can  go  where  ye  will.  Or  I  '11  give  ye  ten  thousand 
dollars  and  ye  can  go  to  Europe  and  make  tunes  if 
you  're  a  mind  to.  And  whatever  ye  choose  it  '11  be 
make  or  break  with  ye.  Ye  can  sleep  on  the  decision, 
for  I  've  no  wish  that  ye  should  choose  hastily  and  be 
sorry  after." 

Buddy  —  grown  to  Bud  —  lifted  a  booted  foot  and 
laid  it  across  his  other  knee  and  with  his  forefinger 
absently  whirled  the  long-pointed  rowel  on  his  spur. 
The  hardness  at  his  lips  somehow  spread  to  his  eyes, 
that  were  bent  on  the  whirring  rowel.     It  was  the 


54  Cow-Country 

look  that  had  come  into  the  face  of  the  baby  down  on 
the  Staked  Plains  when  Ezra  called  and  called  after 
he  had  been  answered  twice;  the  look  that  had  held 
firm  the  lips  of  the  boy  who  had  lain  very  flat  on  his 
stomach  in  the  roof  of  the  dugout  and  had  watched 
the  Utes  burning  the  cabin. 

"  There  's  no  need  to  sleep  on  it,"  he  said  after  a 
minute.  "  You  Ve  raised  me,  and  spent  some  money  on 
me  —  but  I  Ve  saved  you  a  man's  wages  ever  since  I 
was  ten.  If  you  think  I  Ve  evened  things  up,  all  right. 
If  you  don't,  make  out  your  bill  and  I  '11  pay  it  when 
I  can.  There  's  no  reason  why  you  should  give  me 
anything  I  have  n't  earned,  just  because  you  're  my 
father.  You  earned  all  you  Ve  got,  and  I  guess  I  can 
do  the  same.  As  you  say,  I  'm  a  man.  I  '11  go  at  the 
future  man  fashion.  And,"  he  added  with  a  slight 
flare  of  the  nostrils,  "  I  '11  start  in  the  morning." 

"  And  is  it  to  make  tunes  for  other  folks  to  play?  " 
Bob  Birnie  asked  after  a  silence,  covertly  eyeing  him. 

*'  No,  sir.  There  's  more  money  in  cattle.  I  '11 
make  my  stake  in  the  cow-country,  same  as  you  Ve 
done."  He  looked  up  and  grinned  a  little.  "  To  the 
devil  with  your  money  and  your  she-stock !  I  '11  get 
out  all  right  —  but  I  '11  make  my  own  way." 

"You're  a  stubborn  fool,  Robert.  The  Scotch 
now  and  then  shows  itself  like  that  in  a  man.  I  got  my 
start  from  my  father  and  I  'm  not  ashamed  of  it.  A 
thousand  pounds  — and  I  brought  it  to  America  and 
to  Texas,  and  got  cattle." 

Bud  laughed  and  got  up,  hiding  how  the  talk  had 
struck  deep  into  the  soul  of  him.  "  Then  I  '11  go  you 
one  better,  dad.     I  '11  get  my  own  start." 

"  You  '11  be  back  home  in  six  months,  lad,  saying 


The  Young  Eagle   Must   Fly      55 

you  Ve  changed  your  mind/'  Bob  Bimie  predicted 
sharply,  stung  by  the  tone  of  young  Bud.  "  That/' 
he  added  grimly,  "  or  for  a  full  belly  and  a  clean  bed 
to  crawl  into/' 

Bud  stood  licking  the  cigarette  he  had  rolled  to 
hide  an  unaccountable  trembling  of  his  fingers. 
"  When  I  come  back  I  '11  be  in  a  position  to  buy  you 
out !  I  '11  borrow  Skate  and  Maverick,  if  you  don't 
mind,  till  I  get  located  somewhere/'  He  paused  while 
he  lighted  the  cigarette.  "  It 's  the  custom,"  he  re- 
minded his  father  unnecessarily,  "  to  furnish  a  man  a 
horse  to  ride  and  one  to  pack  his  bed,  when  he 's 
fired/' 

"  Ye  've  horses  of  yer  own,"  Bob  Bimie  retorted, 
"  and  you  've  no  need  to  borrow." 

Bud  stood  looking  down  at  his  father,  plainly  un- 
decided. "  I  don't  know  whether  they  're  mine  or  not," 
he  said  after  a  minute.  "  I  don't  know  what  it  cost 
you  to  raise  me.  Figure  it  up,  if  you  have  n't  already, 
and  count  the  time  I  've  worked  for  you.  Since  you  've 
put  me  on  a  business  basis,  like  raising  a  calf  to  ship- 
ping age,  let 's  be  businesslike  about  it.  You  are  good  at 
figuring  your  profits  —  I  '11  leave  it  to  you.  And  if 
you  find  I  've  anything  coming  to  me  besides  my 
riding  outfit  and  the  clothes  I  've  got,  all  right ;  I  '11 
take  horses  for  the  balance." 

He  walked  off  with  the  swing  to  his  shoulders  that 
had  always  betrayed  him  when  he  was  angry,  and 
Bob  Birnie  gathered  his  beard  into  a  handful  and  held 
it  while  he  stared  after  him.  It  had  been  no  part  of 
his  plan  to  set  his  son  adrift  on  the  range  without  a 
dollar,  but  since  Bud's  temper  was  up,  it  might  be  a 
good  thing  to  let  him  go. 


56  Cow-Country 

So  Bob  Bimie  went  away  to  confer  with  his  wife, 
and  Bud  was  left  alone  to  nurse  his  hurt  while  he 
packed  his  few  belongings.  It  did  hurt  him  to  be  told 
in  that  calm,  cold-blooded  manner  that,  now  he  was  of 
legal  age,  he  would  not  be  expected  to  stay  on  at  the 
Tomahawk.  Until  his  father  had  spoken  to  him  about 
it,  Bud  had  not  thought  much  about  what  he  would  do 
when  his  school  days  were  over.  He  had  taken  life  as 
it  was  presented  to  him  week  by  week,  month  by  month. 
He  had  fulfilled  his  mother's  hopes  and  had  learned  to 
make  music.  He  had  lived  up  to  his  father's  unspoken 
standards  of  a  cowman.  He  had  made  a  "  hand  " 
ever  since  his  legs  were  long  enough  to  reach  the 
stirrups  of  a  saddle.  There  was  not  a  better  rider, 
not  a  better  roper  on  the  range  than  Bud  Bimie. 
Morally  he  was  cleaner  than  most  young  fellows  of  his 
age.  He  hated  trickery,  he  reverenced  all  good  women ; 
the  bad  ones  he  pitied  because  he  believed  that  they 
sorrowed  secretly  because  they  were  not  good,  because 
they  had  missed  somehow  their  real  purpose  in  life, 
which  was  to  be  wife  and  mother.  He  had,  in  fact, 
grown  up  clean  and  true  to  type.  He  was  Buddy, 
grown  to  be  Bud. 

And  Buddy,  now  that  he  was  a  man,  had  been  told 
that  he  was  not  expected  to  stay  at  home  and  help  his 
father,  and  be  a  comfort  to  his  mother.  He  was  like 
a  young  eagle  which,  having  grown  wing-feathers  that 
will  bear  the  strain  of  high  air  currents,  has  been 
pecked  out  of  the  nest  No  doubt  the  young  eagle 
resents  his  unexpected  banishment,  although  in  time 
he  would  have  felt  within  himself  the  urge  to  go. 
Leave  Bud  alone,  and  soon  or  late  he  would  have  gone 
—  perhaps  with  compunctions  against  leaving  home, 


The  Young  Eagle  Must   Fly      57 

and  the  feeling  that  he  was  somehow  a  disappointment 
to  his  parents.  He  would  have  explained  to  his  father, 
apologized  to  his  mother.  As  it  was,  he  resented  the 
alacrity  with  which  his  father  was  pushing  him  out. 

So  he  packed  his  clothes  that  night,  and  pushed  his 
guitar  into  its  case  and  buckled  the  strap  with  a  vicious 
y2Lnk,  and  went  off  to  the  bunkhouse  to  eat  supper  with 
the  boys  instead  of  sitting  down  to  the  table  where  his 
mother  had  placed  certain  dishes  which  Buddy  loved 
best  —  wanting  to  show  in  true  woman  fashion  her 
love  and  sympathy  for  him. 

Later  —  it  was  after  Bud  had  gone  to  bed  —  mother 
came  and  had  a  long  talk  with  him.  She  was  very 
sweet  and  sensible,  and  Bud  was  very  tender  with  her. 
But  she  could  not  budge  him  from  his  determination 
to  go  and  make  his  way  without  a  Birnie  dollar  to 
ease  the  beginning.  Other  men  had  started  with  noth- 
ing and  had  made  a  stake,  and  there  was  no  reason 
why  he  could  not  do  so. 

"  Dad  put  it  straight  enough,  and  it 's  no  good  argu- 
ing. I  'd  starve  before  I  'd  take  anything  from  him. 
I  *m  entitled  to  my  clothes,  and  maybe  a  horse  or  two 
for  the  work  I  Ve  done  for  him  while  I  was  growing 
up.  I  Ve  figured  out  pretty  close  what  it  cost  to  put 
me  through  the  University,  and  what  I  was  worth  to 
him  during  the  summers.  Father  's  Scotch  —  but  he 
is  n't  a  darned  bit  more  Scotch  than  I  am,  mother. 
Putting  it  all  in  dollars  and  cents,  I  think  I  Ve  earned 
more  than  I  cost  him.  In  the  winters,  I  know  I  earned 
my  board  doing  chores  and  riding  line.  Many  a  little 
bunch  of  stock  I  Ve  saved  for  him  by  getting  out  in 
the  foothills  and  driving  them  down  below  heavy 
snowline  before  a  storm.    You  remember  the  bunch  of 


58  Cow-Country 

horses  I  found  by  watching  the  magpies  —  the  time  we 
tied  hay  in  canvas  and  took  it  up  to  them  'til  they  got 
strength  enough  to  follow  the  trail  I  trampled  in  the 
snow?  I  earned  my  board  and  more,  every  winter 
since  I  was  ten.  So  I  don't  believe  I  owe  dad  a  cent, 
when  it 's  all  figured  out. 

"  But  you  've  done  for  me  what  money  can't  repay, 
mother.  I  '11  always  be  in  debt  to  you  —  and  I  '11 
square  it  by  being  the  kind  of  a  man  you  've  tried  to 
teach  me  to  be.  I  will,  mother.  Dad  and  the  dollars 
are  a  different  matter.  The  debt  I  owe  you  will  never 
be  paid,  but  I  'm  going  to  make  you  glad  I  know  there  's 
a  debt.  I  believe  there  's  a  God,  because  I  know  there 
must  have  been  one  to  make  you!  And  no  matter 
how  far  away  I  may  drift  in  miles,  your  Buddy  is 
going  to  be  here  with  you  always,  mother,  learning 
from  you  all  there  is  of  goodness  and  sweetness."  He 
held  her  two  hands  against  his  face,  and  she  felt  his 
cheeks  wet  beneath  her  palms.  Then  he  took  them 
away  and  kissed  them  many  times,  like  a  lover. 

"If  I  ever  have  a  wife,  she's  going  to  have  her 
work  cut  out  for  her,"  he  laughed  unsteadily.  "  She  '11 
have  to  live  up  to  you,  mother,  if  she  wants  me  to 
love  her."  | 

"If  you  have  a  wife  she'll  be  well-spoiled,  young' 
man!     Perhaps  it  is  wise  that  you  should  go  —  but 
don't  you  forget. your  music.  Buddy  —  and  be  a  good 
boy,  and  remember,  mother  's  going  to  follow  you  with 
her  love  and  her  faith  in  you,  and  her  prayers." 

It  may  have  been  that  Buddy's  baby  memory  of 
going  north  whenever  the  trail  herd  started  remained 
to  send  Bud  instinctively  northward  when  he  left  the 
Tomahawk  next  morning.    It  had  been  a  case  of  stub- 


The   Young   Eagle   Must   Fly      59 

bom  father  and  stubborn  son  dickering  politely  over 
the  net  earnings  of  the  son  from  the  time  when  he  was 
old  enough  to  leave  his  mother's  lap  and  climb  into  a 
saddle  to  ride  with  his  father.  Three  horses  and  his 
personal  belongings  had  been  agreed  upon  between 
them  as  the  balance  in  Bud's  favor;  and  at  that,  Bob 
Birnie  dryly  remarked,  he  had  been  a  better  investment 
as  a  son  than  most  young  fellows,  who  cost  more  than 
they  were  worth  to  raise. 

Bud  did  not  answer  the  implied  praise,  but  roped 
the  Tomahawk's  best  three  horses  out  of  the  remuda 
corralled  for  him  by  his  father's  riders.  You  should 
have  seen  the  sidelong  glances  among  the  boys  when 
they  learned  that  Bud,  just  home  from  the  University, 
was  going  somewhere  with  all  his  earthly  possessions 
and  a  look  in  his  face  that  meant  trouble ! 

Two  big  valises  and  his  blankets  he  packed  on  Sun- 
fish,  a  deceptively  raw-boned  young  buckskin  with 
much  white  showing  in  his  eyes  —  an  ornery  looking 
brute  if  ever  there  was  one.  Bud's  guitar  and  a  man- 
dolin in  their  cases  he  tied  securely  on  top  of  the  pack. 
Smoky,  the  second  horse,  a  deep-chested  "  mouse  "  with 
a  face  almost  human  in  its  expression,  he  saddled,  and 
put  a  lead  rope  on  the  third,  a  bay  four-year-old  called 
Stopper,  which  was  the  Tomahawk's  best  rope-horse 
and  one  that  would  be  missed  when  fast  work  was 
wanted  in  branding. 

"  He  sure  as  hell  picked  himself  three  top  hawses,'* 
a  tall  puncher  murmured  to  another.  "  Wonder  where 
he 's  headed  for  ?  Not  repping  —  this  late  in  the 
season." 

Bud  overheard  them,  and  gave  no  sign.  Had  they 
asked  him  directly  he  could  not  have  told  them,  for 


6o  Gow-Country 

he  did  not  know,  except  that  somehow  he  felt  that  he 
was  going  to  head  north.  Why  north,  he  could  not 
have  explained,  since  cow-country  lay  all  around  him; 
nor  how  far  north,  —  for  cow-country  extended  to 
the  upper  boundary  of  the  States,  and  beyond  into 
Canada. 

He  left  his  horses  standing  by  the  corral  while  he 
went  to  the  house  to  tell  his  mother  good-by,  and  to 
send  a  farewell  message  to  Dulcie,  who  had  been  mar- 
ried a  year  and  lived  in  Laramie.  He  did  not  expect  to 
strike  Laramie,  he  told  his  mother  when  she  asked  him. 
"  I  'm  going  till  I  stop,"  he  explained,  with  a  squeeze 
of  her  shoulders  to  reassure  her.  "  I  guess  it 's  the 
way  you  felt,  mother,  when  you  left  Texas  behind. 
You  could  n't  tell  where  you  folks  would  wind  up. 
Neither  can  I.  My  trail  herd  is  kinda  small,  right  now ; 
a  lot  smaller  than  it  will  be  later  on.  But  such  as  it  is, 
it 's  going  to  hit  the  right  range  before  it  stops  for 
good.    And  1 11  write." 

He  took  a  doughnut  in  his  hand  and  a  package  of 
lunch  to  slip  in  his  pocket,  kissed  her  with  much  cheer- 
fulness in  his  manner  and  hurried  out,  his  big-rowelled 
spurs  burring  on  the  porch  just  twice  before  he  stepped 
off  on  the  gravel.  Telling  mother  good-by  had  been 
the  one  ordeal  he  dreaded,  and  he  was  glad  to  have  it 
over  with. 

Old  Step-and-a-Half  hailed  him  as  he  went  past  the 
chuck-house,  and  came  limping  out,  wiping  his  hands 
on  his  apron  before  he  shook  hands  and  wished  him 
good  luck.  Ezra,  pottering  around  the  tool  shed, 
ambled  up  with  the  eyes  of  a  dog  that  has  been  sent 
back  home  by  his  master.  "  Ah  shoah  do  wish  yo'  all 
good  fawtune  an'  health,  Marse  Buddy,"  Ezra  qua- 


The  Young  Eagle   Must   Fly      6i 

vered.  "  Ah  shoah  do.  It  ain*  goin'  seem  lak  de  same 
place  —  and  Ah  shoah  do  hopes  yo'  all  writes  frequent 
lettahs  to  yo*  mothah,  boy !  " 

Bud  promised  that  he  would,  and  managed  to  break 
away  from  Ezra  without  betraying  himself.  How,  he 
wondered,  did  everyone  seem  to  know  that  he  was  go- 
ing for  good,  this  time  ?  He  had  believed  that  no  one 
knew  of  it  save  himself,  his  father  and  his  mother;  yet 
everyone  else  behaved  as  if  they  never  expected  to 
see  him  again.  It  was  disconcerting,  and  Bud  hastily 
untied  the  two  led  horses  and  mounted  Smoky,  the 
mouse-colored  horse  he  himself  had  broken  two  years 
before. 

His  father  came  slowly  up  to  him,  straight-backed 
and  with  the  gait  of  the  man  who  has  ridden  astride  a 
horse  more  than  he  has  walked  on  his  own  feet.  He 
put  up  his  hand,  gloved  for  riding,  and  Bud  changed 
the  lead-ropes  from  his  right  hand  to  his  left,  and 
shook  hands  rather  formally. 

"  Ye  Ve  good  weather  for  travelling,"  said  Bob 
I  Birnie  tentatively.  "  I  have  not  said  it  before,  lad, 
but  when  ye  own  yourself  a  fool  to  take  this  way  of 
making  your  fortune,  ten  thousand  dollars  will  still 
be  ready  to  start  ye  right.  I  Ve  no  wish  to  shirk  a 
duty  to  my  family." 

Bud  pressed  his  lips  together  while  he  listened.    "  If 
you  keep  your  ten  thousand  till  it 's  called  for,  you  '11 
I  be  drawing  interest  a  long  time  on  it,"  he  said.    "  It 's 
1  going  to  be  hot  to-day.     I  '11  be  getting  along." 

He  lifted  the  reins,  glanced  back  to  see  that  the  two 
horses  were  showing  the  proper  disposition  to  follow, 
and  rode  off  down  the  deep-rutted  road  that  followed 
up  the  creek  to  the  pass  where  he  had  watched  the 


62  Cow-Country 

Utes  dancing  the  war  dance  one  night  that  he  remem- 
bered well.  If  he  winced  a  little  at  the  familiar  land- 
marks he  passed,  he  still  held  fast  to  the  determination 
to  go,  and  to  find  fortune  somewhere  along  the  trail 
of  his  own  making;  and  to  ask  help  from  no  man,  least 
of  all  his  father  who  had  told  him  to  go. 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 
Bud  Flips  a  Coin  with  Fate 

"  I  don't  think  it  matters  so  much  where  we  light, 
it 's  what  we  do  when  we  get  there,"  said  Bud  to 
Smoky,  his  horse,  one  day  as  they  stopped  where  two 
roads  forked  at  the  base  of  a  great,  outstanding  peak 
that  was  but  the  point  of  a  mountain  range.  "  This 
trail  straddles  the  butte  and  takes  on  up  two  different 
valleys.  It 's  all  cow-country  —  so  what  do  yuh  say. 
Smoke  ?    Which  trail  looks  the  best  to  you  ?  " 

Smoky  flopped  one  ear  forward  and  the  other  one 
back,  and  switched  at  a  pestering  fly.  Behind  him 
Sunfish  and  Stopper  waited  with  the  patience  they  had 
learned  in  three  weeks  of  continuous  travel  over  coun- 
try that  was  rough  in  spots,  barren  in  places,  with 
wind  and  sun  and  occasional,  sudden  thunderstorms 
to  punctuate  the  daily  grind  of  travel. 

Bud  drew  a  half  dollar  from  his  pocket  and  re- 
garded it  meditatively.  "  They  're  going  fast  —  we  *11 
just  naturally  have  to  stop  pretty  soon,  or  we  don't 
eat,"  he  observed.  "  Smoke,  you  're  a  quitter.  What 
you  want  to  do  is  go  back — but  you  won't  get  the 
chance.  Heads,  we  take  the  right  hand  trail.  I  like  it 
better,  anyway  —  it  angles  more  to  the  north." 

Heads  it  was,  and  Bud  leaned  from  the  saddle  and 
recovered  the  coin.  Smoky  turning  his  head  to  regard 


I 


64  Cow-Country 


his  rider  tolerantly.  "  Right  hand  goes  —  and  we 
camp  at  the  first  good  water  and  grass.  I  can  grain 
the  three  of  you  once  more  before  we  hit  a  town,  and 
that  goes  for  me,  too.  G*wan,  Smoke,  and  don't  act 
so  mournful." 

Smoky  went  on,  following  the  trail  that  wound  in 
and  out  around  the  butte,  hugging  close  its  sheer  sides 
to  avoid  a  fifty-foot  drop  into  the  creek  below.  It 
was  new  country  —  Bud  had  never  so  much  as  seen  a 
map  of  it  to  give  him  a  clue  to  what  was  coming.  The 
last  turn  of  the  deep-rutted,  sandy  road  where  it  left 
the  river's  bank  and  led  straight  between  two  humpy 
shoulders  of  rock  to  the  foot  of  a  platter-shaped  val- 
ley brought  him  to  a  halt  again  in  sheer  astonishment. 

From  behind  a  low  hill  still  farther  to  the  right, 
where  the  road  forked  again,  a  bluish  haze  of  smoke 
indicated  that  there  was  a  town  of  some  sort,  perhaps. 
Farther  up  the  valley  a  brownish  cloud  hung  low  —  a 
roundup.  Bud  knew  at  a  glance.  He  hesitated.  The 
town,  if  it  were  a  town,  could  wait;  the  roundup 
might  not.  And  a  job  he  must  have  soon,  or  go  hun- 
gry. He  turned  and  rode  toward  the  dust-cloud, 
came  shortly  to  a  small  stream  and  a  green  grass-plot, 
and  stopped  there  long  enough  t<5  thro^  the  pack  off 
Sunfish,  unsaddle  Smoky  and  stake  them  toth  out  to 
graze.  Stopper  he  saddled,  then  knelt  and  washed 
his  face,  beat  the  travel  dust  off  his  hat,  untied  his 
rope  and  coiled  it  carefully,  untied  his  handkerchief 
and  shook  it  as  clean  as  he  could  and  knotted  it  closely 
again.  One  might  have  thought  he  was  preparing  to 
meet  a  girl;  but  the  habit  of  neatness  dated  back  to 
his  pink-apron  days  and  beyond,  the  dirt  and  dust 
meant  discomfort. 


Bud   Flips   a   Coin   with   Fate      65 

When  he  mounted  Stopper  and  loped  away  toward 
the  dust-cloud,  he  rode  hopefully,  sure  of  himself, 
carrying  his  range  credentials  in  his  eyes,  in  his  perfect 
saddle-poise,  in  the  tan  on  his  face  to  his  eyebrows, 
and  the  womanish  softness  of  his  gloved  hands,  which 
had  all  the  sensitive  flexibility  of  a  musician. 

His  fnain  hope  was  that  the  outfit  was  working 
short-handed;  and  when  he  rode  near  enough  to  dis- 
tinguish the  herd  and  the  riders,  he  grinned  his  satis- 
faction. 

"  Good  cow-country,  by  the  look  of  that  bunch  of 
cattle,"  he  observed  to  himself.  "  And  eight  men  is  a 
small  crew  to  work  a  herd  that  size.  I  guess  I  '11  tie 
onto  this  outfit.  Stopper,  you'll  maybe  get  a  chance 
to  turn  a  cow  this  afternoon." 

Just  how  soon  the  chance  would  come.  Bud  had  not 
realized.  He  had  no  more  than  come  within  shouting 
distance  of  the  herd  when  a  big,  rollicky  steer  broke 
from  the  milling  cattle  and  headed  straight  out  past 
him,  running  like  a  deer.  Stopper,  famed  and  named 
for  his  prowess  with  just  such  cattle,  wheeled  in  his 
tracks  and  lengthened  his  stride  to  a  run. 

"  Tie  'im  down ! "  someone  yelled  behind  Bud. 
And  "  Catch  'im  arid  tie  'im  down ! "  shouted  an- 
other. 

For  answer  Bud  waved  his  hand,  and  reached  in 
his  pocket  for  his  knife.  Stopper  was  artfully  circling 
the  steer,  forcing  it  back  toward  the  herd,  and  in  an- 
other hundred  yards  or  so  Bud  must  throw  his  loop. 
He  sliced  off  a  saddle-string  and  took  it  between  his 
teeth,  jerked  his  rope  loose,  flipped  open  the  loop  as 
Stopper  raced  up  alongside,  dropped  the  noose  neatly, 
and  took  his  turns  while  Stopper  planted  his  forefeet 


66  Cow-CountrjT 

and  braced  himself  for  the  shock.  Bud's  right  leg 
was  over  the  cantle,  all  his  weight  on  the  left  stirrup 
when  the  jerk  came  and  the  steer  fell  with  a  thump. 
By  good  luck  —  so  Bud  afterwards  asserted  —  he  was 
off  and  had  the  steer  tied  before  it  had  recovered  its 
breath  to  scramble  up.  He  remounted,  flipped  off  the 
loop  and  recoiled  his  rope  while  he  went  jogging  up  to 
meet  a  rider  coming  out  to  him. 

If  he  expected  thanks  for  what  he  had  done,  he 
must  have  received  a  shock.  Other  riders  had  left 
their  posts  and  were  edging  up  to  hear  what  happened, 
and  Bud  reined  up  in  astonishment  before  the  most 
amazing  string  of  unseemly  epithets  he  had  ever  heard. 
It  began  with :  "  What  'd  you  throw  that  critter  for?  " 
— which  of  course  is  putting  it  mildly  —  and  ended  in 
a  choked  phrase  which  one  man  may  not  use  to  an- 
other's face  and  expect  anything  but  trouble  after- 
wards. 

Bud  unbuckled  his  gun  and  hung  the  belt  on  his 
saddle  horn,  and  dismounted.  "  Get  olf  your  horse 
and  take  the  damnedest  licking  you  ever  had  in  your 
life,  for  that ! "  he  invited  vengefully.  "  You  told  me 
to  tie  down  that  steer,  and  I  tied  him  down.  You  've 
got  no  call  to  complain  —  and  there  is  n't  a  man  on 
earth  I  '11  take  that  kinda  talk  from.  Crawl  down, 
you  parrot-faced  cow-eater  —  and  leave  your  gun  on 
the  saddle." 

The  man  remained  where  he  was  and  looked  Bud 
over  uncertainly.  "  Who  are  you,  and  where  'd  yuh 
come  from  ?  "  he  demanded  more  calmly.  ''  /  never  saw 
yuh  before." 

"  Well,  I  never  grew  up  with  your  face  before  me, 
either!"  Bud  snapped.     "If  I  had  I'd  probably  be 


I 


Bud   Flips   a   Coin  with   Fate      67 

cross-eyed  by  now.  You  called  me  something!  Get 
off  that  horse  or  I  '11  pull  you  off !  " 

"Aw,  yuh  don't  want  to  mind  — "  began  a  tall, 
lean  man  pacifically;  but  he  of  the  high  nose  stopped 
him  with  a  wave  of  the  hand,  his  eyes  still  measuring 
the  face,  the  form  and  the  fighting  spirit  of  one  Bud 
Birnie,  standing  with  his  coat  off,  quivering  with  rage. 

"  I  guess  I  'm  in  the  wrong,  young  fellow  —  I  did 
holler  *  Tie  'im  down.'  But  if  you  'd  ever  been  around 
this  outfit  any  you  'd  have  known  I  did  n't  mean  it 
literal."  He  stopped  and  suddenly  he  laughed.  "  I  've 
been  yellin'  '  Tie  'im  down '  for  two  years  and  more, 
when  a  critter  breaks  outa  the  bunch,  and  nobody  was 
ever  fool  enough  to  tackle  it  before.  It 's  just  a  sayin' 
we  've  got,  young  man.     We  —  " 

"What  about  the  name  you  called  me?"  Bud 
was  still  advancing  slowly,  not  much  appeased  by  the 
explanation.  "  I  don't  give  a  darn  about  the  steer. 
You  said  tie  him,  and  he  's  tied.  But  when  you  call 
me  — 

"  My  mistake,  young  feller.  When  I  get  riled  up  I 
don't  pick  my  words."  He  eyed  Bud  sharply. 
"  You  're  mighty  quick  to  obey  orders,"  he  added  ten- 
tatively. 

"  I  was  brought  up  to  do  as  I  'm  told,"  Bud  re- 
torted stiffly.     "  Any  objections  to  make?  " 

"  Not  one  in  the  world.  Wish  there  was  more  like 
yuh.  You  ain't  been  in  these  parts  long?  "  His  tone 
made  a  question  of  the  statement. 

"  Not  right  here."  Bud  had  no  reason  save  his 
temper  for  not  giving  more  explicit  information,  but 
Bart  Nelson  —  as  Bud  knew  him  afterwards  —  con- 
tinued to  study  him  as  if  he  suspected  a  blotched  past. 


68  Cow-Country 

"  Hunh.     That  your  horse?  " 

"  I  Ve  got  a  bill  of  sale  for  him/' 

"  You  don't  happen  to  be  wanting  a  job,  I  s'pose?" 

"  I  would  n't  refuse  to  take  one."  And  then  the 
twinkle  came  back  to  Bud's  eyes,  because  all  at  once 
the  whole  incident  struck  him  as  being  rather  funny. 
''  I  'd  want  a  boss  that  expected  to  have  his  orders 
carried  out,  though.  I  lack  imagination,  and  I  never 
did  try  to  read  a  man's  mind.  What  he  says  he  'd  bet- 
ter mean  —  when  he  says  it  to  me." 

Bart  Nelson  gave  a  short  laugh,  turned  and  sent  his 
riders  back  to  their  work  with  oaths  tingling  their 
ears.  Bud  judged  that  cursing  was  his  natural  form 
of  speech. 

"  Go  let  up  that  steer,  and  I  '11  put  you  to  work," 
he  said  to  Bud  afterwards.  "  That 's  a  good  rope 
horse  you  're  riding.  If  you  want  to  use  him,  and  if 
you  can  hold  up  to  that  little  sample  of  roping  yuh 
gave  us,  I  '11  pay  yuh  sixty  a  month.  And  that 's 
partly  for  doing  what  you  're  told,"  he  added  with  a 
quick  look  into  Bud's  eyes.  "  You  did  n't  say  where 
you  're  from  —  " 

"I  was  born  and  raised  in  cow-country,  and  no- 
body's looking  for  me,"  Bud  informed  him  over  his 
shoulder  while  he  remounted,  and  let  it  go  at  that. 
From  southern  Wyoming  to  Idaho  was  too  far,  he 
reasoned,  to  make  it  worth  while  stating  his  exact 
place  of  residence.  If  they  had  never  heard  of  the 
Tomahawk  outfit  it  would  do  no  good  to  name  it.  If 
they  had  heard  of  it,  they  would  wonder  why  the  son 
of  so  rich  a  cowman  as  Bob  Birnie  should  be  hiring  out 
as  a  common  cowpuncher  so  far  from  home.  He  had 
studied  the  matter  on  his  way  north,  and  had  decided 


Bud   Flips  a   Coin   with   Fate      69 

to  let  people  form  their  own  conclusions.  If  he  could 
not  make  good  without  the  name  of  Bob  Birnie  behind 
him,  the  sooner  he  found  it  out  the  better. 

He  untied  the  steer,  drove  it  back  into  the  herd  and 
rode  over  to  where  the  high-nosed  man  was  helping 
hold  the  "  cut." 

"  Can  you  read  brands  ?  We  're  cuttin*  out  AJ  and 
AJBar  stuff;  left  ^ir-crop  on  the  AJ,  and  undercut  on 
the  AJBar." 

Bud  nodded  and  eased  into  the  herd,  spied  an  AJ 
two-year-old  and  urged  it  toward  the  outer  edge, 
smiling  to  himself  when  he  saw  how  Stopper  kept  his 
nose  close  to  the  animal's  rump.  Once  in  the  milling 
fringe  of  the  herd,  Stopper  nipped  it  into  the  open, 
rushed  it  to  the  cut  herd,  wheeled  and  went  back  of  his 
own  accord.  From  the  corner  of  his  eye,  as  he  went, 
Bud  saw  that  Bart  Nelson  and  one  or  two  others  were 
watching  him.  They  continued  to  eye  him  covertly 
while  he  worked  the  herd  with  two  other  men.  He 
was  glad  that  he  had  not  travelled  far  that  day,  and 
that  he  had  ridden  Smoky  and  left  Stopper  fresh  and 
eager  for  his  favorite  pastime,  which  was  making 
cattle  do  what  they  particularly  did  not  want  to  do. 
In  that  he  was  adept,  and  it  pleased  Bud  mightily  to 
see  how  much  attention  Stopper  was  attracting. 

Not  once  did  it  occur  to  him  that  it  might  be  him- 
self who  occupied  the  thoughts  of  his  boss.  Buddy  — 
afterwards  Bud  —  had  lived  his  whole  life  among 
friends,  his  only  enemies  the  Indians  who  preyed  upon 
the  cowmen.  White  men  he  had  never  learned  to 
distrust,  and  to  be  distrusted  had  never  been  his  por- 
tion. He  had  always  been  Bud  Birnie,  son  and  heir 
of  Bob  Birnie,  as  clean-handed  a  cattle  king  as  ever 


70  Cow-Country 

recorded  a  brand.  Even  at  the  University  his  position 
had  been  accepted  without  question.  That  the  man  he 
mentally  called  Parrot  face  was  puzzled  and  even  wor- 
ried about  him  was  the  last  thing  he  would  think  of. 

But  it  was  true.  Bart  Nelson  watched  Bud,  that 
afternoon.  A  man  might  ride  up  to  Bart  and  assert 
that  he  was  an  old  hand  with  cattle,  and  Bart  would 
say  nothing,  but  set  him  to  worV  as  he  had  Bud. 
Then  he  would  know  just  how  old  a  "  hand "  the 
fellow  was.  Fifteen  minutes  convinced  him  that  Bud 
had  "  growed  up  in  the  saddle  ",  as  he  would  have  put 
it.  But  that  only  mystified  him  the  more.  Bart  knew 
the  range,  and  he  knew  every  man  in  the  country,  from 
Burroback  Valley,  which  was  this  great  valley's  name, 
to  the  Black  Rim,  beyond  the  mountain  range,  and  be- 
yond the  Black  Rim  to  the  Sawtooth  country.  He 
knew  their  ways  and  he  knew  their  past  records. 

He  knew  that  this  young  fellow  came  from  farther 
ranges,  and  he  would  have  been  at  a  loss  to  explain 
just  how  he  knew  it.  He  would  have  said  that  Bud 
did  not  have  the  "  earmarks  "  of  an  Idaho  rider.  Fur- 
thermore, the  small  Tomahawk  brand  on  the  left  flank 
of  the  horse  Bud  rode  was  totally  unknown  to  Bart. 
Yet  the  horse  did  not  bear  the  marks  of  long  riding. 
Bud  himself  looked  as  if  he  had  just  ridden  out  from 
some  nearby  ranch  —  and  he  had  refused  to  say  where 
he  was  from. 

Bart  swore  under  his  breath  and  beckoned  to  him  a 
droopy-mustached,  droopy-shouldered  rider  who  was 
circling  the  herd  in  a  droopy,  spiritless  manner  and 
chewing  tobacco  with  much  industry. 

"  Dirk,  you  know  brands  from  the  Panhandle  to 
Cypress  Hills.     What  d' yuh  make  of  that  horse? 


Bud   Flips   a   Coin   with    Fate      71 

Where  does  he  come  from  ?  "  Bart  stopped  abruptly 
and  rode  forward  then  to  receive  and  drive  farther 
back  a  galloping  AJBar  cow  which  Bud  and  Stopper 
had  just  hazed  out  of  the  herd.  Dirk  squinted  at 
Stopper's  brand  which  showed  cleanly  in  the  glossy, 
new  hair  of  early  summer.  He  spat  carefully  with 
the  wind  and  swung  over  to  meet  his  boss  when  the 
cow  was  safely  in  the  cut  herd. 

"  New  one  on  me,  Bart.  They  's  a  hatchet  brand 
over  close  to  Jackson's  Hole,  somewhere.  Where  'd 
the  kid  say  he  was  from?  " 

"  He  would  n't  say,  but  he 's  a  sure-enough  cow- 
hand." 

"  That  there  horse  ain't  been  rode  down  on  no  long 
journey,"  Dirk  volunteered  after  further  scrutiny. 
And  he  added  with  the  unconscious  impertinence  of 
an  old  and  trusted  employee,  "  Yuh  goin'  to  put  him 
on.f^ 

"  Already  done  it  —  sixty  a  month,"  Bart  confided. 
"  That  '11  bring  out  what 's  in  him ;  he  's  liable  to  turn 
out  good  for  the  outfit.  Showed  he  '11  do  what  he 's 
told  first,  and  think  it  over  afterwards.  I  like  that 
there  trait  in  a  man." 

Dirk  pulled  his  droopy  mustache  away  from  his  lips 
as  if  he  wanted  to  make  sure  that  his  smile  would 
show;  though  it  was  not  a  pretty  smile,  on  account  of 
his  tobacco-stained  teeth. 

"  'S  your  fun'ral,  Bart.  I  'd  say  he 's  from  Jack- 
son's Hole,  on  a  rough  guess  —  but  I  would  n't  pre- 
sume to  guess  what  he  's  here  fur.  Mebby  he  come 
across  from  Black  Rim.    I  can  find  out,  if  you  say  so." 

Bud  was  weaving  in  and  out  through  the  herd,  scan- 
ning the  animals  closely.     While  the  two  talked  he 


72  Cow-Country 

singled  out  a  yearling  heifer,  let  Stopper  nose  it  out 
beyond  the  bunch  and  drove  it  close  to  the  boss. 

"  Better  look  that  one  over,"  he  called  out.  **  One 
way,  it  looks  like  AJ,  and  another  way  I  could  n't  name 
it.  And  the  ear  looks  as  if  about  half  of  it  had  been 
frozen  off.  Did  n't  want  to  run  it  into  the  cut  until 
you  passed  on  it." 

Bart  looked  first  at  Bud,  and  he  looked  hard.  Then 
he  rode  over  and  inspected  the  yearling,  Dirk  close  at 
his  heels. 

"  Throw  'er  back  with  the  bunch,"  he  ordered. 

*'  That  finishes  the  cut,  then,"  Bud  announced,  rub- 
bing his  hand  along  Stopper's  sweaty  neck.  "  I  kept 
passing  this  critter  up,  and  I  guess  the  other  boys  did 
the  same.  But  it 's  the  last  one,  and  I  thought  I  'd  run 
her  out  for  you  to  look  over." 

Bart  grunted.  "  Dirk,  you  take  a  look  and  see  if 
they  've  got  'em  all.  And  you.  Kid,  can  help  haze  the 
cut  up  the  Flat  —  the  boys  '11  show  you  what  to  do." 

Bud,  remembering  Smoky  and  Sunfish  and  his  camp, 
hesitated.  "  I  've  got  a  camp  down  here  by  the  creek," 
he  said.  "If  it 's  all  the  same  to  you,  I  '11  report 
for  work  in  the  morning,  if  you  '11  tell  me  where  to 
head  for.  And  I  '11  have  to  arrange  somehow  to  pas- 
ture my  horses ;  I  've  got  a  couple  more  at  camp." 

Bart  studied  him  for  a  minute,  and  Bud  thought  he 
was  going  to  change  his  mind  about  the  job,  or  the 
sixty  dollars  a  month.  But  Bart  merely  told  him  to 
ride  on  up  the  Flat  next  morning,  and  take  the  first  trail 
that  turned  to  the  left.  "  The  Muleshoe  ranch  is  up 
there  agin  that  pine  mountain,"  he  explained.  "  Bring 
along  your  outfit.  I  guess  we  can  take  care  of  a 
couple  of  horses,  all  right." 


Bud   Flips  a  Coin  with   Fate      73 

That  suited  Bud  very  well,  and  he  rode  away  think- 
ing how  lucky  he  was  to  have  taken  the  right  fork  in 
the  road,  that  day.  He  had  ridden  straight  into  a  job, 
and  while  he  was  not  very  enthusiastic  over  the  boss, 
the  other  boys  seemed  all  right,  and  the  wages  were  a 
third  more  than  he  had  expected  to  get  just  at  first.  It 
was  the  first  time,  he  reminded  himself,  that  he  had 
been  really  tempted  to  locate,  and  he  certainly  had 
struck  it  lucky. 

He  did  not  know  that  when  he  left  the  roundup  his 
going  had  been  carefully  noted,  and  that  he  was  no 
sooner  out  of  sight  than  Dirk  Tracy  was  riding  cau- 
tiously on  his  trail.  While  he  fed  his  horses  the  last 
bit  of  grain  he  had,  and  cooked  his  supper  over  what 
promised  to  be  his  last  camp-fire,  he  did  not  dream  that 
the  man  with  the  droopy  mustache  was  lying  amongst 
the  bushes  on  the  other  bank  of  the  creek,  watching 
every  move  he  made. 

He  meant  to  be  up  before  daylight  so  that  he  could 
strike  the  ranch  of  the  Muleshoe  outfit  in  time  for 
breakfast,  wherefore  he  went  to  bed  before  the  after^ 
glow  had  left  the  mountain-tops  around  him.  And 
being  young  and  carefree  and  healthfully  weary,  he 
was  asleep  and  snoring  gently  within  five  minutes  of 
his  last  wriggle  into  his  blankets.  But  Dirk  Tracy 
watched  him  for  fully  two  hours  before  he  decided 
that  the  kid  was  not  artfully  pretending,  but  was 
really  asleep  and  likely  to  remain  so  for  the  night. 

Dirk  was  an  extremely  cautious  man,  but  he  was 
also  tired,  and  the  cold  food  he  had  eaten  in  place  of  a 
hot  supper  had  not  been  satisfying  to  his  stomach. 
He  crawled  carefully  out  of  the  brush,  stole  up  the 
creek  to  where  he  had  left  his  horse,  and  rode  away. 


74  Cow-Country 

He  was  not  altogether  sure  that  he  had  done  his  full 
duty  to  the  Muleshoe,  but  it  was  against  human  nature 
for  a  man  nearing  forty  to  lie  uncovered  in  the  brush, 
and  let  a  nimierous  family  of  mosquitoes  feed  upon 
him  while  he  listened  to  a  young  man  snoring  com- 
fortably in  a  good  camp  bed  a  hundred  feet  away. 

Dirk,  because  his  conscience  was  not  quite  clear, 
slept  in  the  stable  that  night  and  told  his  boss  a  lie 
next  morning. 


CHAPTER  EIGHT 
The  Muleshoe 

The  riders  of  the  Muleshoe  outfit  were  eating 
breakfast  when  Bud  rode  past  the  long,  low-roofed 
log  cabin  to  the  corral  which  stood  nearest  the  clutter 
of  stables  and  sheds.  He  stopped  there  and  waited  to 
see  if  his  new  boss  was  anywhere  in  sight  and  would 
come  to  tell  him  where  to  unpack  his  belongings.  A 
sandy  complexioned  young  man  with  red  eyelids  and 
no  lashes  presently  emerged  from  the  stable  and  came 
toward  him,  his  mouth  sagging  loosely  open,  his  eyes 
vacuous.  He  was  clad  in  faded  overalls  turned  up  a 
foot  at  the  bottom  and  showing  frayed,  shoddy  trou- 
sers beneath  and  rusty,  run-down  shoes  that  proved 
he  was  not  a  rider.  His  hat  was  peppered  with  little 
holes,  as  if  someone  had  fired  a  charge  of  birdshot  at 
him  and  had  all  but  bagged  him. 

The  youth's  eyes  became  fixed  upon  the  guitar  and 
mandolin  cases  roped  on  top  of  Sunfish's  pack,  and  he 
pointed  and  gobbled  something  which  had  the  sound 
of  speech  without  being  intelligible.  Bud  cocked  an 
ear  toward  him  inquiringly,  made  nothing  of  the  jumble 
and  rode  off  to  the  cabin,  leading  Sunfish  after  him. 
The  fellow  might  or  might  not  be  the  idiot  he  looked, 
and  he  might  or  might  not  keep  his  hands  off  the  pack  ; 
Bud  was  not  going  to  take  any  chance. 


76  Cow-Country 

He  heard  sounds  within  the  cabin,  but  no  one  ap- 
peared until  he  shouted,  "  Hello !  "  twice.  The  door 
opened  then  and  Bart  Nelson  put  out  his  head,  his 
jaws  working  over  a  mouthful  of  food  that  seemed 
tough. 

"  Oh,  it 's  you.  Cm  awn  in  an'  eat,"  he  invited, 
and  Bud  dismounted,  Wever  guessing  that  his  slightest 
motion  had  been  carefully  observed  from  the  time  he 
had  forded  the  creek  at  the  foot  of  the  slope  beyond 
the  cabin. 

Bart  introduced  him  to  the  men  by  the  simple  method 
of  waving  his  hand  at  the  group  around  the  table  and 
saying,  "  Guess  you  know  the  boys.  What  'd  yuh 
say  we  could  call  yuh  ?  " 

"Bud  —  ah  —  Birnie,*'  Bud  answered,  swiftly 
weighing  the  romantic  idea  of  using  some  makeshift 
name  until  he  had  made,  his  fortune,  and  deciding 
against  it.  A  false  name  might  mean  future  embar- 
rassment, and  he  was  so  far  from  home  that  his  father 
would  never  hear  of  him  anyway.  But  his  hesitation 
served  to  convince  every  man  there  that  Birnie  was 
not  his  name,  and  that  he  probably  had  good  cause  for 
concealing  his  own.  Adding  that  to  Dirk  Tracy's 
guess  that  he  was  from  Jackson's  Hole,  the  sum  spelled 
outlaw. 

The  Muleshoe  boys  were  careful  not  to  seem  curious 
about  Bud's  past.  They  even  refrained  from  mani- 
festing too  much  interest  in  the  musical  instruments 
until  Bud  himself  took  them  out  of  their  cases  that 
evening  and  began  tuning  them.  Then  the  half-baked, 
tongue-tied  fellow  came  over  and  gobbled  at  him 
eagerly. 

"Hen  wants  yuh  to  play  something,"  a  man  they 


The   Muleshoe  77 

calljed  Day  interpreted.  "  Hen  *s  loco  on  music.  If 
you  can  sing  and  play  both,  Hen  '11  set  and  listen  till 
plumb  daylight  and  never  move  an  eyewinker.'* 

Bud  looked  up,  smiled  a  little  because  Hen  had  no 
eyewinkers  to  move,  and  suddenly  felt  pity  because  a 
man  could  be  so  altogether  unlikeable  as  Hen.  Also 
because  his  mother's  face  stood  vividly  before  him  for 
an  instant,  leaving  him  with  a  queer  tightening  of  the 
throat  and  the  feeling  that  he  had  been  rebuked.  He 
nodded  to  Hen,  laid  down  the  mandolin  and  picked  up 
the  guitar,  turned  up  the  a  string  a  bit,  laid  a  booted- 
and-spurred  foot  across  the  other  knee,  plucked  a  minor 
chord  sonorously  and  began  abruptly : 

"  Yo'  kin  talk  about  you  coons  a-havin'  trouble  — 
Well,    Ah    think    Ah    have    enough-a    of    mah 
oh-own  —  " 

Hen's  high-pointed  Adam's  apple  slipped  up  and 
down  in  one  great  gulp  of  ecstasy.  He  eased  slowly 
down  upon  the  edge  of  the  bunk  beside  Bud  and  gazed 
at  him  fascinatedly,  his  lashless  eyes  never  winking, 
his  jaw  dropped  so  that  his  mouth  hung  half  open. 
Day  nudged  Dirk  Tracy,  who  parted  his  droopy  mus- 
tache and  smiled  his  unlovely  smile,  lowering  his  left 
eyelid  unnecessarily  at  Bud.  The  dimple  in  Bud's 
chin  wrinkled  as  he  bent  his  head  and  plunked  the  in- 
terlude with  a  swing  that  set  spurred  boots  tapping  the 
floor  rhythmically. 

"  Bart,  he  's  went  and  hired  a  show-actor,  looks 
like,"  Dirk  confided  behind  his  hand  to  Shorty 
McGuire.     "  That 's  real  singin',  if  yuh  ask  me!  " 

"  Shut  up !  "  grunted  Shorty,  and  prodded  Dirk  into 
silence  so  that  he  would  miss  none  of  the  song. 


7  8  Cow-Country 

Since  Buddy  had  left  the  pink-apron  stage  of  his 
adventurous  life  behind  him,  singing  songs  to  please 
other  people  had  been  as  much  a  part  of  his  life  as 
riding  and  roping  and  eating  and  sleeping.  He  had 
always  sung  or  played  or  danced  when  he  was  asked 
to  do  so  —  accepting  without  question  his  mother's 
doctrine  that  it  was  unkind  and  ill-bred  to  refuse  when 
he  really  could  do  those  things  well,  because  on  the 
cattle  ranges  indoor  amusements  were  few,  and  those 
who  could  furnish  real  entertainment  were  fewer. 
Even  at  the  University,  coon  songs  and  Irish  songs 
and  love  songs  had  been  his  portion;  wherefore  his 
repertoire  seemed  endless,  and  if  folks  insisted  upon 
it  he  could  sing  from  dark  to  dawn,  providing  his 
voice  held  out. 

'  Hen  sat  with  his  big-jointed  hands  hanging  loosely 
over  his  knees  and  listened,  stared  at  Bud  and  grinned 
vacuously  when  one  song  was  done,  gulped  his  Adam's 
apple  and  listened  again  as  raptly  to  the  next  one.  The 
others  forgot  all  about  having  fun  watching  Hen,  and 
named  old  favorites  and  new  ones,  heard  them  sung 
inimitably  and  called  for  more.  At  midnight  Bud 
blew  on  his  blistered  fingertips  and  shook  the  guitar 
gently,  bottomside  up. 

"  I  guess  that 's  all  the  music  there  is  in  the  darned 
thing  to-night,"  he  lamented.  "  She  's  made  to  keep 
time,  and  she  always  strikes,  along  about  midnight." 

"Huh-huh!"  chortled  Hen  convulsively,  as  if  he 
understood  the  joke.  He  closed  his  mouth  and  sighed 
deeply,  as  one  who  has  just  wakened  from  a  trance. 

After  that.  Hen  followed  Bud  around  like  a  pet  dog, 
and  found  time  between  stable  chores  to  groom  those 
astonished  horses,  Stopper  and  Smoky  and  Sunfish,  aj 


The   Muleshoe  79 

if  they  were  stall-kept  thorooighbreds.  He  had  them 
coming  up  to  the  pasture  gate  every  day  for  the  few 
handfuls  of  grain  he  purloined  for  them,  and  their 
sleekness  was  a  joy  to  behold. 

**  Hen,  he  's  adopted  yuh,  horses  and  all,  looks  like," 
Dirk  observed  one  day  to  Bud  when  they  were  riding 
together.  And  he  tempered  the  statement  by  adding 
that  Hen  was  trusty  enough,  even  if  he  did  n't  have  as 
much  sense  as  the  law  allows.  "  He  sure  is  takin* 
care  of  them  cayuses  of  yourn.     D'you  tell  him  to?'* 

Bud  came  out  of  a  homesick  revery  and  looked  at 
him  inquiringly.    "  No,  I  did  n't  tell  him  anything." 

"I  believe  that,  all  right,"  Dirk  retorted.  ''You 
don't  go  around  tellin'  all  yuh  know.  I  like  that  in  a 
feller.  A  man  never  got  into  trouble  yet  by  keepin' 
his  mouth  shut ;  but  there  's  plenty  that  have  talked 
themselves  into  the  pen.  Me,  I  've  got  no  use  for  a 
talker." 

Bud  sent  him  a  sidelong  glance  of  inquiry,  and 
Dirk  caught  him  at  it  and  grinned. 

"  Yuh  been  here  a  month,  and  you  ain't  said  a  damn 
word  about  where  you  come  from  or  anything  further 
back  than  throwin'  and  tyin'  that  critter.  You  said 
cow-country,  and  that  has  had  to  do  some  folks  that 
might  be  curious.  Well,  she  's  a  tearin'  big  place  — 
cow-country.  She  runs  from  Canady  to  Mexico,  and 
from  the  corn  belt  to  the  Pacific  Ocean,  mighty  near. 
Takes  in  Jackson's  Hole,  and  a  lot  uh  country  I  know." 
He  parted  his  mustache  and  spat  carefully  into  the 
sand.  "  I  'm  willin'  to  tie  to  a  man,  specially  a  young 
feller,  that  can  play  the  game  the  way  you  been  playin' 
it,  Bud.  Most  always,"  he  complained  vaguely,  **  they 
carry  their  brand  too  damn  plain.     They  either  pull 


8o  Cow-Country  I 

their  hats  down  past  their  eyebrows  and  give  every- 
body the  bad  eye,  or  else  they  're  too  damn  ready  to 
He  about  themselves.  You  throw  in  with  the  boys 
just  fine  —  but  you  ain't  told  a  one  of  'em  where  you 
come  from,  ner  why,  ner  nothin'." 

"  I  'm  here  because  I  'm  here,"  Bud  chanted  softly, 
his  eyes  stubborn  even  while  he  smiled  at  Dirk. 

"  I  know  —  yuh  sung  that  the  first  night  yuh  come, 
and  yuh  looked  straight  at  the  boss  all  the  while  you  was 
singin'  it,"  Dirk  interrupted,  and  laughed  slyly.  *'  The 
boys,  they  took  that  all  in,  too.  And  Bart,  he  was  n't 
asleep,  neither.  You  sure  are  smooth  as  they  make 
'em.  Bud.  I  guess,"  he  leaned  closer  to  predict  con- 
fidentially, "  you  've  just  about  passed  the  probation 
time,  young  feller.  If  I  know  the  signs,  the  boss  is 
gittin'  ready  to  raise  yuh." 

He  looked  at  Bud  rather  sharply.  Instantly  the 
training  of  Buddy  rose  within  Bud.  His  memory 
flashed  back  unerringly  to  the  day  when  he  had 
watched  that  Indian  gallop  toward  the  river,  and  had 
sneered  because  the  Indian  evidently  expected  him  to 
follow  into  the  undergrowth. 

Dirk  Tracy  did  not  in  the  least  resemble  an  Indian, 
nor  did  his  rambling  flattery  bear  any  likeness  to  a 
fleeing  enemy;  yet  it  was  plain  enough  that  he  was 
trying  in  a  bungling  way  to  force  Bud's  confidence, 
and  for  that  reason  Bud  stared  straight  ahead  and 
said  nothing. 

He  did  not  remember  having  sung  that  particular 
ditty  during  his  first  evening  at  the  Muleshoe,  nor  of 
staring  at  the  boss  while  he  sung.  He  might  have  done 
both,  he  reflected ;  he  had  sung  one  song  after  another 
for  about  four  hours  that  night,  and  unless  he  sang 


The  Muleshoe  8i 

with  his  eyes  shut  he  would  have  to  look  somewhere. 
That  it  should  be  taken  by  the  whole  outfit  as  a  broad 
hint  to  ask  no  questions  seemed  to  him  rather  far- 
fetched. 

Nor  did  he  see  why  Dirk  should  compliment  him  on 
keeping  his  mouth  shut,  or  call  him  smooth.  He  did 
not  know  that  he  had  been  on  probation,  except  per- 
haps as  that  applied  to  his  ability  as  a  cow-hand.  And 
he  could  see  no  valid  reason  why  the  boss  should  con- 
template "  raising  "  him.  So  far,  he  had  been  doing 
no  more  than  the  rest  of  the  boys,  except  when  there 
was  roping  to  be  done  and  he  and  Stopper  were  called 
upon  to  distinguish  themselves  by  fast  rope-work,  with 
never  a  miss.  Sixty  dollars  a  month  was  as  good  pay 
as  he  had  any  right  to  expect. 

Dirk,  he  decided,  had  given  him  one  good  tip  which 
he  would  follow  at  once.  Dirk  had  said  that  no  man 
ever  got  into  trouble  by  keeping  his  mouth  shut.  Bud 
closed  his  for  a  good  half  hour,  and  when  he  opened  it 
again  he  undid  all  the  good  he  had  accomplished  by 
his  silence. 

"  Where  does  that  trail  go,  that  climbs  up  over  the 
mountains  back  of  that  peak  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Seems  to 
be  a  stock  trail.  Have  you  got  grazing  land  beyond 
the  mountains  ?  " 

Dirk  took  time  to  pry  off  a  fresh  chew  of  tobacco 
before  he  replied.  "You  mean  Thunder  Pass?  That 
there  crosses  over  into  the  Black  Rim  country.  Yeah 
—  there  's  a  big  wide  range  country  over  there,  but 
we  don't  run  any  stock  on  it.  Burroback  Valley's 
big  enough  for  the  Muleshoe." 

Bud  rolled  a  cigarette.  "  I  did  n't  mean  that  main 
trail ;  that 's  a  wagon  road,  and  Thunder  Pass  cuts 


82  Cow-Country 


through  between  Sheepeater  peak  and  this  one  ahead 
of  us  —  Gospel,  you  call  it.  What  I  referred  to  is 
that  blind  trail  that  takes  off  up  the  canyon  behind  the 
corrals,  and  crosses  into  the  mountains  the  other  side 
of  Gospel." 

Dirk  eyed  him.  "  I  dunno  *s  I  could  say,  right  offhand, 
what  trail  yuh  mean,"  he  parried.  "  Every  canyon  's 
got  a  trail  that  runs  up  a  ways,  and  there  *s  canyons 
all  through  the  mountains ;  they  all  lead  up  to  water,  or 
feed,  or  something  like  that,  and  then  quit,  most  gen- 
erally; jest  peter  out,  like."  And  he  added  with  heavy 
sarcasm,  "**  A  feller  that  *s  lived  on  the  range  oughta 
know  what  trails  is  for,  and  how  they  're  made.  Cow- 
critters  are  curious  —  same  as  humans."  | 

To  this  Bud  did  not  reply.  He  was  smoking  and  * 
staring  at  the  brushy  lower  slopes  of  the  mountain 
ridge  before  them.  He  had  explained  quite  fully 
which  trail  he  meant.  It  was,  as  he  had  said,  a 
*'  blind  "  trail ;  that  is,  the  trail  lost  itself  in  the  creek 
which  watered  a  string  of  corrals.  Moreover,  Bud 
had  very  keen  eyes,  and  he  had  seen  how  a  panel  of 
the  corral  directly  across  the  shale-rock  bed  of  a  small 
stream  was  really  a  set  of  bars.  The  round  pole 
corral  lent  itself  easily  to  hidden  gateways,  without 
any  deliberate  attempt  at  disguising  their  presence. 

The  string  of  four  corrals  running  from  this  upper 
one  —  which,  he  remembered,  was  not  seen  from 
nearer  the  stables  —  was  perhaps  a  convenient  ar- 
rangement in  the  handling  of  stock,  although  it  was 
unusual.  The  upper  corral  had  been  built  to  fit  snugly 
into  a  rocky  recess  in  the  base  of  the  peak  called 
Gospel.  It  was  larger  than  some  of  the  others,  since 
it  followed  the  contour  of  the  basin-like  recess.     Ac- 


The   Muleshoe  83 

cess  to  it  was  had  from  the  fourth  corral  (which  from 
the  ranch  appeared  to  be  the  last)  and  from  the  creek- 
bed  that  filled  the  narrow  mouth  of  the  canyon  behind. 

Dirk  might  not 'have  understood  him,  Bud  thought. 
He  certainly  should  have  recognized  at  once  the  trail 
Bud  meant,  for  there  was  no  other  canyon  back  of  the 
corrals,  and  even  that  one  was  not  apparent  to  one 
looking  at  the  face  of  the  steep  slope.  Stock  had 
been  over  that  canyon  trail  within  the  last  month  or  so, 
however;  and  Bud's  inference  that  the  Muleshoe  must 
have  grazing  ground  across  the  mountains  was  nat- 
ural ;  the  obvious  explanation  of  its  existence. 

"  How  'd  you  come  to  be  explorin*  around  Gospel, 
anyway  ?  "  Dirk  quizzed  finally.  "  A  person  'd  think, 
short-handed  as  the  Muleshoe  is  this  spring,  't  you'd 
git  all  the  ridin'  yuh  want  without  prognosticating 
around  aimless." 

Now  Bud  was  not  a  suspicious  young  man,  and  he 
had  been  no  more  than  mildly  inquisitive  about  that 
trail.  But  neither  was  he  a  fool;  he  caught  the  em- 
phasis which  Dirk  had  placed  on  the  word  aimless, 
and  his  thoughts  paused  and  took  another  look  at 
Dirk's  whole  conversation.  There  was  something 
queer  about  it,  something  which  made  Bud  sheer  off 
from  his  usual  unthinking  assurance  that  things  were 
just  what  they  seemed. 

Immediately,  however,  he  laughed  —  at  himself  as 
well  as  at  Dirk. 

"  We  've  been  feeding  on  sour  bread  and  warmed- 
over  coffee  ever  since  the  cook  disappeared  and  Bart 
put  Hen  in  the  kitchen,"  he  said.  "  If  I  were  you, 
Dirk,  I  would  n't  blister  my  hands  shovelling  that  grub 
into  myself  for  a  while.     You  're  bilious,  old-timer. 


84  Cow-Country 

No  man  on  earth  would  talk  the  way  you  Ve  been 
talking  to-day  unless  his  whole  digestive  apparatus 
were  out  of  order." 

Dirk  spat  angrily  at  a  dead  sage  bush.  "  They 
shore  as  hell  would  n't  talk  the  kinda  talk  you  've  been 
talkin'  unless  they  was  a  born  fool  or  else  huntin' 
trouble,"  he  retorted  venomously. 

"  The  doctor  said  I  'd  be  that  way  if  I  lived,"  Bud 
grinned  amiably,  although  his  face  had  flushed  at 
Dirk's  tone.  "  He  said  it  would  n't  hurt  me  for 
work." 

"Yeah  —  and  what  kinda  work?"  Dirk  rode  so 
close  that  his  horse  shouldered  Bud's  leg  discomfort- 
ingly.  "  I  been  edgin'  yuh  along  to  see  what-f 'r  brand 
yuh  carried.  And  I  've  got  ye  now,  you  damned 
snoopin'  kioty.  Bart,  he  hired  yuh  to  work —  and  not 
to  go  prowling  around  lookin'  up  trails  that  ain't 
there—" 

"  You  're  a  dim-brand  reader,  I  don't  think !  Why 
you  —  !" 

Oh,  well  —  remember  that  Bud  was  only  Buddy 
grown  bigger,  and  he  had  never  lacked  the  spirit  to 
look  out  for  himself.  Remember,  too,  that  he  must 
have  acquired  something  of  a  vocabulary,  in  the  course 
of  twenty-one  years  of  absorbing  everything  that  came 
within  his  experience. 

Dirk  reached  for  his  gun,  but  Bud  was  expecting 
that.  Dirk  was  not  quite  quick  enough,  and  his  hand 
therefore  came  forward  with  a  jerk  when  he  saw  that 
he  was  "  covered."  Bud  leaned,  pulled  Dirk's  six- 
shooter  from  its  holster  and  sent  it  spinning  into  a 
clump  of  bushes.  He  snatched  a  wicked-looking 
knife  from  Dirk's  boot  where  he  had  once  seen  Dirk 


The   Muleshoe  85 

slip  it  sheathed  when  he  dressed  in  the  bunk-house, 
and  sent  that  after  the  gun. 

"  Now,  you  long-eared  walrus,  you  're  in  a  position 
to  play  fair.  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?" 
He  reined  away,  out  of  Dirk's  reach,  took  his  hand- 
kerchief and  wrapped  his  own  gun  tightly  to  protect  it 
from  sand,  and  threw  it  after  Dirk's  gun.  and  the 
knife.  "Am  I  a  snooping  coyote?"  he  demanded, 
watching  Dirk. 

**  You  air.  More  'n  all  that,  you  're  a  damned  spy ! 
And  I  kin  lick  yuh  an'  lass'  yuh  an'  lead  yuh  to  Bart 
like  a  sheep !  " 

They  dismounted,  left  their  horses  to  stand  with 
reins  dropped,  threw  off  their  coats  and  fought  until 
they  were  too  tired  to  land  another  blow.  There  were 
no  fatalities.  Bud  did  not  come  out  of  the  fray  un- 
scathed and  proudly  conscious  of  his  strength  and 
his  skill  and  the  unquestionable  righteousness  of  his 
cause.  Instead  he  had  three  bruised  knuckles  and  a 
rapidly  swelling  ear,  and  when  his  anger  had  cooled 
a  little  he  felt  rather  foolish  and  wondered  what  had 
started  them  off  that  way.  They  had  ridden  away  from 
the  ranch  in  a  very  good  humor,  and  he  had  harbored 
no  conscious  dislike  of  Dirk  Tracy,  who  had  been  one 
individual  of  a  type  of  rangemen  which  he  had  known 
all  his  life  and  had  accepted  as  a  matter  of  course. 

Dirk,  on  his  part,  had  some  trouble  in  stopping  the 
bleeding  of  his  nose,  and  by  the  time  he  reached  the 
ranch  his  left  eye  was  closed  completely.  He  was 
taller  and  heavier  than  Bud,  and  he  had  not  expected 
such  a  slugging  strength  behind  Bud's  blows. 

He  was  badly  shaken,  and  when  Bud  recovered  the 
two  guns  and  the  knife  and  returned  his  weapons  to 


86  Cow-Country 

him,  Dirk  was  half  tempted  to  shoot.  But  he  did  not 
—  perhaps  because  Bud  had  unwrapped  his  own  six- 
shooter  and  was  looking  it  over  with  the  muzzle  slant- 
ing a  wicked  eye  in  Dirk's  direction. 

Late  that  afternoon,  when  the  boys  were  loafing 
around  the  cabin  waiting  for  their  early  supper.  Bud 
packed  his  worldly  goods  on  Sunfish  and  departed 
from  the  Muleshoe  —  "by  special  request  ",  he  admit- 
ted to  himself  ruefully —  with  his  wages  in  gold  and 
silver  in  his  pocket  and  no  definite  idea  of  what  he 
would  do  next. 

He  wished  he  knew  exactly  why  Bart  had  fired  him. 
He  did  not  believe  that  it  was  for  fighting,  as  Bart 
had  declared.  He  thought  that  perhaps  Dirk  Tracy 
had  some  hold  on  the  Muleshoe  not  apparent  to  the 
outsider,  and  that  he  had  lied  about  him  to  Bart  as  a 
sneaking  kind  of  revenge  for  being  whipped.  But 
that  explanation  did  not  altogether  satisfy  him,  either. 

In  his  month  at  the  Muleshoe  he  had  gained  a  very 
fair  general  idea  of  the  extent  and  resources  of  Burro- 
back  Valley,  but  he  had  not  made  any  acquaintances 
and  he  did  not  know  just  where  to  go  for  his  next  job. 
So  for  want  of  something  better,  he  rode  down  to  the 
little  stream  which  he  now  knew  was  called  One  Creek, 
and  prepared  to  spend  the  night  there.  In  the  morning 
he  would  make  a  fresh  start  —  and  because  of  the 
streak  of  stubbornness  he  had,  he  meant  to  make  it  in 
Burroback  Valley,  under  the  very  nose  of  the  Mule- 
shoe outfit. 


CHAPTER  NINE 
Little  Lost 

Little  Lost  —  somehow  the  name  appealed  to  Bud, 
whose  instinct  for  harmony  extended  to  words  and 
phrases  and,  for  that  matter,  to  everything  in  the 
world  that  was  beautiful.  From  the  time  when  he  first 
heard  Little  Lost  mentioned,  he  had  felt  a  vague  regret 
that  chance  had  not  led  him  there  instead  of  to  the 
Muleshoe.  Brands  he  had  heard  all  his  life  as  the 
familiar,  colloquial  names  for  ranch  headquarters. 
The  Muleshoe  was  merely  a  brand  name.  Little  Lost 
was  something  else,  and  because  Buddy  had  been 
taught  to  "  wait  and  find  out "  and  to  ask  questions 
only  as  a  last  resort,  Bud  was  still  in  ignorance  of  the 
meaning  of  Little  Lost.  He  knew,  from  careless  re- 
marks made  in  his  presence,  that  the  mail  came  to  Little 
Lost,  and  that  there  was  some  sort  of  store  where 
certain  everyday  necessities  were  kept,  for  which  the 
store-keeper  charged  "two  prices."  But  there  was 
also  a  ranch,  for  he  sometimes  heard  the  boys  mention 
the  Little  Lost  cattle,  and  speak  of  some  man  as  a 
rider  for  the  Little  Lost. 

So  to  Little  Lost  Bud  rode  blithely  next  morning, 
riding  Stopper  and  leading  Smoky,  Sunfish  and  the 
pack  following  as  a  matter  of  course.     Again  his 


88  Cow-Country 


trained  instinct  served  him  faithfully.  He  had  a  very 
good  general  idea  of  Burroback  Valley,  he  knew  that 
the  Muleshoe  occupied  a  fair  part  of  the  south  side, 
and  guessed  that  he  must  ride  north,  toward  the  Gold 
Gap  Mountains,  to  find  the  place  he  wanted. 

The  trail  was  easy,  his  horses  were  as  fat  as  was 
good  for  them.  In  two  hours  of  riding  at  his  usual 
trail  pace  he  came  upon  another  stream  which  he  knew 
must  be  Sunk  Creek  grown  a  little  wider  and  deeper  in 
its  journey  down  the  valley.  He  forded  that  with  a 
great  splashing,  climbed  the  farther  bank,  followed  a 
stubby,  rocky  bit  of  road  that  wound  through  dense 
willow  and  cottonwood  growth,  came  out  into  a 
humpy  meadow  full  of  ant  hills,  gopher  holes  and 
soggy  wet  places  where  the  water  grass  grew,  crossed 
that  and  followed  the  road  around  a  brushy  ridge  and 
found  himself  squarely  confronting  Little  Lost. 

There  could  be  no  mistake,  for  "  Little  Lost  Post- 
Office  "  was  unevenly  painted  on  the  high  cross-bar 
of  the  gate  that  stood  wide  open  and  permanently 
warped  with  long  sagging.  There  was  a  hitch-rail 
outside  the  gate,  and  Bud  took  the  hint  and  left  his 
horses  there.  From  the  wisps  of  fresh  hay  strewn 
along  the  road,  Bud  knew  that  haying  had  begun  at 
Little  Lost.  There  were  at  least  four  cabins  and  a 
somewhat  pretentious,  story-and-a-half  log  house  with 
vines  reaching  vainly  to  the  high  window  sills,  and 
coarse  lace  curtains.  One  of  these  curtains  moved 
slightly,  and  Bud's  sharp  eyes  detected  the  movement 
and  knew  that  his  arrival  was  observed  in  spite  of  the 
emptiness  of  the  yard. 

The  beaten  path  led  to  a  screen  door  which  sagged 
with  much  slamming,  leaving  a  wide  space  at  the  top 


Little   Lost  89 

through  which  flies  passed  in  and  out  quite  comfort- 
ably. Bud  saw  that,  also,  and  his  fingers  itched  to 
reset  that  door,  just  as  he  would  have  done  for  his 
mother  —  supposing  his  mother  would  have  tolerated 
the  slamming  which  had  brought  the  need.  Bud  lifted 
his  gloved  knuckles  to  knock,  saw  that  the  room  within 
was  grimy  and  bare  and  meant  for  public  use,  very 
much  like  the  office  of  a  country  hotel,  with  a  counter 
and  a  set  of  pigeon-holes  at  the  farther  end.  He 
walked  in. 

No  one  appeared,  and  after  ten  minutes  or  so  Bud 
guessed  why,  and  went  back  to  the  door,  pushed  it 
wide  open  and  permitted  it  to  fly  shut  with  a  bang. 
Whereupon  a  girl  opened  the  door  behind  the  counter 
and  came  in,  glancing  at  Bud  with  frank  curiosity. 

Bud  took  off  his  hat  and  clanked  over  to  the  counter 
and  asked  if  there  was  any  mail  for  Bud  Birnie  — 
Robert  Wallace  Birnie. 

The  girl  looked  at  him  again  and  smiled,  and  turned 
to  shuflle  a  handful  of  letters.  Bud  employed  the 
time  in  trying  to  guess  just  what  she  meant  by  that 
smile. 

It  was  not  really  a  smile,  he  decided,  but  the  be- 
ginning of  one.  And  if  that  were  the  beginning,  he 
would  very  much  like  to  know  what  the  whole  smile 
would  mean.  The  beginning  hinted  at  things.  It 
was  as  if  she  doubted  the  reality  of  the  name  he  gave, 
and  meant  to  conceal  hef  doubt,  or  had  heard  some- 
thing amusing  about  him,  or  wished  to  be  friends  with 
him,  or  was  secretly  timorous  and  trying  to  appear 
merely  indifferent.    Or  perhaps  — 

She  replaced  the  letters  and  turned,  and  rested  her 
hands  on  the  counter.     She  looked  at  him  and  again 


go  Cow-Country 

her  lips  turned  at  the  corners  in  that  faint,  enigmatical 
beginning  of  a  smile. 

"  There  is  n't  a  thing,"  she  said.  "  The  mail  comes 
this  noon  again.  Do  you  want  yours  sent  out  to  any 
of  the  outfits?    Or  shall  I  just  hold  it?  " 

"  Just  hold  it,  when  there  is  any.  At  least,  until  I 
see  whether  I  land  a  job  here.  I  wonder  where  I  could 
find  the  boss  ?  "  Bud  was  glancing  often  at  her  hands. 
For  a  ranch  girl  her  hands  were  soft  and  white,  but 
her  fingers  were  a  bit  too  stubby  and  her  nails  were 
too  round  and  flat. 

"  Uncle  Dave  will  be  home  at  noon.  He  's  out  in 
the  meadow  with  the  boys.  You  might  sit  down  and 
wait." 

Bud  looked  at  his  watch.  Sitting  down  and  waiting 
for  four  hours  did  not  appeal  to  him,  even  supposing 
the  girl  would  keep  him  company.  But  he  lingered 
awhile,  leaning  with  his  elbows  on  the  counter  near  her ; 
and  by  those  obscure  little  conversational  trails  known 
to  youth,  he  progressed  considerably  in  his  acquaint- 
ance with  the  girl  and  made  her  smile  often  without 
once  feeling  quite  certain  that  he  knew  what  was  in 
her  mind. 

He  discovered  that  her  name  was  Honora  Krause, 
and  that  she  was  called  Honey  "  for  short."  Her 
father  had  been  Dutch  and  her  mother  a  Yankee,  and 
she  lived  with  her  uncle,  Dave  Truman,  who  owned 
Little  Lost  ranch,  and  took  care  of  the  mail  for  him, 
and  attended  to  the  store — which  was  nothing  more 
than  a  supply  depot  kept  for  the  accommodation  of  the 
neighbors.     The  store,  she  said,  was  in  the  next  room. 

Bud  asked  her  what  Little  Lost  meant,  and  she 
replied  that  she  did  not  know,  but  that  it  might  have 


Little   Lost  91 

something  to  do  with  Sunk  Creek  losing  itself  in  The 
Sinks.  There  was  a  Little  Lost  river,  farther  across 
the  mountains,  she  said,  but  it  did  not  run  through 
Little  Lost  ranch,  nor  come  anywhere  near  it. 

After  that  she  questioned  him  adroitly.  Perversely 
Bud  declined  to  become  confidential,  and  Honey  Krause 
changed  the  subject  abruptly. 

"  There  *s  going  to  be  a  dance  here  next  Friday 
night.  It  '11  be  a  good  chance  to  get  acquainted  with 
everybody  —  if  you  go.  There'll  be  good  music,  I 
guess.  Uncle  Dave  wrote  to  Crater  for  the  Saunders 
boys  to  come  down  and  play.  Do  you  know  anybody 
in  Crater?" 

The  question  was  innocent  enough,  but  perverse- 
ness  still  held  Bud.  He  smiled  and  said  he  did  not 
know  anybody  anywhere,  any  more.  He  said  that  if 
Bobbie  Burns  had  asked  him  "  Should  auld  acquaint- 
ance be  forgot,"  he'd  have  told  him  yes,  and  he'd 
have  made  it  good  and  strong.  But  he  added  that  he 
was  just  as  willing  to  make  new  acquaintance,  and 
thought  the  dance  would  be  a  good  place  to  begin. 

Honey  gave  him  a  provocative  glance  from  under  her 
lashes,  and  Bud  straightened  and  stepped  back. 

*'  You  let  folks  stop  here,  I  take  it.  I  've  a  pack 
outfit  and  a  couple  of  saddle  horses  with  me.  Will  it 
be  all  right  to  turn  them  in  the  corral  ?  I  hate  to  have 
them  eat  post  hay  all  day.  Or  I  could  perhaps  go 
back  to  the  creek  and  camp." 

"  Oh,  just  turn  your  horses  in  the  corral  and  make 
yourself  at  home  till  uncle  comes,"  she  told  him  with 
that  tantalizing  half -smile.  "  We  keep  people  here  — 
just  for  accommodation.  There  has  to  be  some  place 
in  the  valley  where  folks  can  stop.    I  can't  promise  that 


92  Cow-Country 

uncle  will  give  you  a  job,  but  there  's  going  to  be 
chicken  and  dumpHngs  for  dinner.  And  the  mail  will 
be  in,  about  noon — you  '11  want  to  wait  for  that/* 

She  was  standing  just  within  the  screen  door, 
frankly  watching  him  as  he  came  past  the  house  with 
the  horses,  and  she  came  out  and  halted  him  when  she 
spied  the  top  of  the  pack. 

"  You  'd  better  leave  those  things  here,"  she  ad- 
vised him  eagerly.  "  I  *11  put  them  in  the  sitting- 
room  by  the  piano.  My  goodness,  you  must  be  a 
whole  orchestra!  If  you  can  play,  maybe  you  and  I 
can  furnish  the  music  for  the  dance,  and  save  Uncle 
Dave  hiring  the  Saunders  boys.  Anyway,  we  can  play 
together,  and  have  real  good  times." 

Bud  had  an  odd  feeling  that  Honey  was  talking  one 
thing  with  her  lips,  and  thinking  an  entirely  different 
set  of  thoughts.  He  eyed  her  covertly  while  he  untied 
the  cases,  and  he  could  have  sworn  that  he  saw  her 
signal  someone  behind  the  lace  curtains  of  the  nearest 
window.  He  glanced  carelessly  that  way,  but  the  cur- 
tains were  motionless.  Honey  was  holding  out  her 
hands  for  the  guitar  and  the  mandolin  when  he  turned, 
so  Bud  surrendered  them  and  went  on  to  the  corrals. 

He  did  not  return  to  the  house.  An  old  man  was 
pottering  around  a  machine  shed  that  stood  backed 
against  a  thick  fringe  of  brush,  and  when  Bud  rode 
by  he  left  his  work  and  came  after  him,  taking  short 
steps  and  walking  with  his  back  bent  stiffly  forward 
and  his  hands  swinging  limply  at  his  sides. 

He  had  a  long  black  beard  streaked  with  gray,  and 
sharp  blue  eyes  set  deep  under  tufted  white  eyebrows. 
He  seemed  a  friendly  old  man  whose  interest  in  life 
remained  keen  as  in  his  youth,  despite  the  feebleness 


Little  Lost  93 

of  his  body.  He  showed  Bud  where  to  turn  the  horses, 
and  went  to  work  on  the  pack  rope,  his  crooked  old  fin- 
gers moving  with  the  sureness  of  Hfelong  habit.  He 
was  eager  to  know  all  the  news  that  Bud  could  tell 
him,  and  when  he  discovered  that  Bud  had  just  left 
the  Muleshoe,  and  that  he  had  been  fired  because  of  a 
fight  with  Dirk  Tracy,  the  old  fellow  cackled  gleefully. 

"  Well,  now,  I  guess  you  just  about  had  yore  hands 
full,  young  man,"  he  commented  shrewdly.  "Dirk 
ain't  so  easy  to  lick." 

Bud  immediately  wanted  to  know  why  it  was  taken 
for  granted  that  he  had  whipped  Dirk,  and  grandpa 
chortled  again.  "  Now  if  you  had  n't  of  licked  Dirk, 
you  would  n't  of  got  fired,"  he  retorted,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  relate  a  good  deal  of  harmless  gossip  which 
seemed  to  bear  out  the  statement.  Dirk  Tracy,  accord- 
ing to  grandpa,  was  the  real  boss  of  the  Muleshoe,  and 
Bart  was  merely  a  figure-head. 

All  of  this  did  not  matter  to  Bud,  but  grandpa  was 
garrulous.  A  good  deal  of  information  Bud  received 
while  the  two  attended  to  the  horses  and  loitered  at 
the  corral  gate. 

Grandpa  admired  Smoky,  and  looked  him  over 
carefully,  with  those  caressing  smoothings  of  mane 
and  forelock  which  betray  the  lover  of  good  horseflesh. 

"  I  reckon  he 's  purty  fast,"  he  said,  peering  shrewdly 
into  Bud's  face.  "  The  boys  has  been  talking  about 
pulling  off  some  horse  races  here  next  Sunday  —  we 
got  a  good,  straight,  hard-packed  creek-bed  up  here  a 
piece  that  has  been  cleaned  of  rocks  fer  a  mile  track, 
and  they  're  goin'  to  run  a  horse  er  two.  Most  gen- 
erally they  do,  on  Sunday,  if  work  's  slack.  You  might 
git  in  on  it,  if  you  're  around  in  these  parts."     He 


94  Cow-Country 

pushed  his  back  straight  with  his  palms,  turned  his 
head  sidewise  and  squinted  at  Smoky  through  half- 
closed  lids  while  he  fumbled  for  cigarette  material. 

"  I  dunno  but  what  I  might  be  willin'  to  put  up  a 
few  dollars  on  that  horse  myself,"  he  observed,  "if 
you  say  he  kin  run.  You  would  n't  go  an'  lie  to  an  old 
feller  like  me,  would  yuh,  son  ?  " 

Bud  offered  him  the  cigarette  he  had  just  rolled. 
""  No,  I  won't  lie  to  you,  dad,"  he  grinned.  "  You 
know  horses  too  well." 

"  Well,  but  kin  he  run?    I  want  yore  word  on  it." 

"  Well  —  yes,  he  's  always  been  able  to  turn  a  cow," 
Eud  admitted  cautiously. 

"  Ever  run  him  f  er  money  ?  '^  The  old  man  began 
teetering  from  his  toes  to  his  heels,  and  to  hitch  his 
shoulders  forward  and  back. 

"  Well,  no,  not  for  money.  I  Ve  run  him  once  or 
twice  for  fun,  just  trying  to  beat  some  of  the  boys  to 
camp,  maybe." 

"  Sho!  That 's  no  way  to  do!  No  way  at  all!  " 
The  old  man  spat  angrily  into  the  dust  of  the  corral. 
Then  he  thought  of  something.  "  Did  yuh  beat  'em  ?  " 
he  demanded  sharply. 

"  Why,  sure,  I  beat  them !  "  Bud  looked  at  him 
surprised,  seemed  about  to  say  more,  and  let  the  state- 
ment stand  unqualified. 

Grandpa  stared  at  him  for  a  minute,  his  blue  eyes 
blinking  with  some  secret  excitement.  "  Young  fel- 
ler," he  began  abruptly,  "  lemme  tell  yuh  something. 
Yuh  never  want  to  do  a  thing  like  that  agin.  If  you 
got  a  horse  that  can  outrun  the  other  feller's  horse, 
figure  to  make  him  bring  yuh  in  something  —  if  it 
ain't  no  more  'n  a  quarter !    Make  him  bring  yuh  a  little 


Little   Lost  95 

something.  That 's  the  way  to  do  with  everything  yuh 
turn  a  hand  to;  make  it  bring  yuh  in  something!  It 
ain't  what  goes  out  that  '11  do  yuh  any  good  —  it 's 
what  comes  in.  You  mind  that.  If  you  let  a  horse  run 
agin  another  feller's  horse,  bet  on  him  to  come  in 
ahead  —  and  then,"  he  cried  fiercely,  pounding  one 
fist  into  the  other  palm,  "  by  Christmas,  make  'im 
come  in  ahead !  "  His  voice  cracked  and  went  flat 
with  emotion. 

He  stopped  suddenly  and  let  his  arms  fall  slack,  his 
shoulders  sag  forward.  He  waggled  his  head  and 
muttered  into  his  beard,  and  glanced  at  Bud  with  a 
crafty  look. 

"  If  I  'd  a  took  that  to  m'self,  I  would  n't  be  chorin' 
around  here  now  for  my  own  son,"  he  lamented.  "  I  'd' 
of  saved  the  quarters,  an'  I  'd  of  had  a  few  dollars  now^ 
of  my  own.  Uh  course,"  he  made  haste  to  add,  "  I  git 
holt  of  a  little,  now  and  agin.  Too  old  to  ride  —  too 
old  to  work  —  jest  manage  to  pick  up  a  dollar  er  twO' 
ncvv  and  agin  —  on  a  horse  that  kin  run." 

He  went  over  to  Smoky  again  and  ran  his  hand 
down  over  the  leg  muscles  to  the  hocks,  felt  for  im- 
perfections and  straightened  painfully,  slapped  the 
horse  approvingly  between  the  forelegs  and  laid  a  hand 
on  his  shoulder  while  he  turned  slowly  to  Bud. 

"  Young  feller,  there  ain't  a  man  on  the  place  right 
now  but  you  an'  me.  What  say  you  throw  yore  sad- 
dle on  this  horse  and  take  'im  up  to  the  track  ?  I  'd 
like  to  see  him  run.  Seems  to  me  he  'd  ought  to  be  a 
purty  good  quarter-horse.** 

Bud  hesitated.  "  I  would  n't  mind  running  him, 
grandpa,  if  I  thought  I  could  make  something  on  him. 
I've  got  my  stake  to  make,   and   I   want  to  make 


g6  Cow-Country 

it  before  all  my  teeth  fall  out  so  I  can't  chew  anything 
but  the  cud  of  reflection  on  my  lost  opportunities.  If 
Smoky  can  run  a  few  dollars  into  my  pocket,  I  'm 
with  you." 

Grandpa  teetered  forward  and  put  out  his  hand. 
"Shake  on  that,  boy!''  he  cackled.  "Pop  Truman 
ain't  too  old  to  have  his  Httle  joke  —  and  make  it 
bring  him  in  something,  by  Christmas!  You  saddle 
up  and  we  '11  go  try  him  out  on  a  quarter-mile  — 
mebby  a  half,  if  he  holds  up  good." 

He  poked  a  cigarette-stained  forefinger  against 
Bud's  chest  and  whispered  slyly :  "  My  son  Dave,  he  's 
got  a  horse  in  the  stable  that 's  been  cleanin'  every- 
thing in  the  valley.  I  '11  slip  him  out  and  up  the  creek- 
trail  to  the  track,  and  you  run  that  horse  of  yourn 
agin  him.  Dave,  he  can't  git  a  race  outa  nobody 
around  here,  no  more,  so  he  won't  run  next  Sunday. 
We  '11  jest  see  how  yore  horse  runs  alongside  Boise. 
I  kin  tell  purty  well  how  you  kin  run  agin  the  rest  - — 
Pop,  he  ain't  s'  thick-headed  they  kin  fool  him  much. 
What  say  we  try  it?  " 

Bud  stood  back  and  looked  him  over.  "  You  shook 
hands  with  me  on  it,"  he  said  gravely.  "  Where  I 
came  from,  that  holds  a  man  like  taking  oath  on  a 
Bible  in  court.  I  'm  a  stranger  here,  but  I  'm  going  to 
expect  the  same  standard  of  honor,  grandpa.  You 
can  back  out  now,  and  I  '11  run  Smoky  without  any 
tryout,  and  you  can  take  your  chance.  I  could  n't 
expect  you  to  stand  by  a  stranger  against  your  own 
folks  —  " 

"  Sho !  Shucks  a'mighty !  "  Grandpa  spat  and 
wagged  his  head  furiously.  "  My  own  folks  'd  beat 
me  in  a  horse  race  if  they  could,  and  I  would  n't  hold 


Little  Lost  97 

it  agin  'em!  Runnin'  horses  is  like  playin*  poker. 
Every  feller  fer  himself  an'  mercy  to-ward  none!  I 
knowed  what  it  meant  when  I  shook  with  yuh,  young 
feller,  and  I  hold  ye  to  it.  I  hold  ye  to  it!  You  lay 
low  if  I  tell  ye  to  lay  low,  and  we  '11  make  us  a  few 
dollars,  mebby.  Cm  on  and  git  that  horse  outa  here 
b'fore  somebuddy  comes.     It 's  mail  day.*' 

He  waved  Bud  toward  his  saddle  and  took  himself 
off  in  a  shuffling  kind  of  trot.  By  the  time  Bud  had 
saddled  Smoky  grandpa  hailed  him  cautiously  from 
the  brush- fringe  beyond  the  corral.  He  motioned 
toward  a  small  gate  and  Bud  led  Smoky  that  way, 
closing  the  gate  after  him. 

The  old  man  was  mounted  on  a  clean-built  bay  whose 
coat  shone  with  little  glints  of  gold  in  the  dark  red. 
With  one  sweeping  look  Bud  observed  the  points  that 
told  of  speed,  and  his  eyes  went  inquiringly  to  meet  the 
sharp  blue  ones,  that  sparkled  under  the  tufted  white 
eyebrows  of  grandpa. 

"  Do  you  expect  Smoky  to  show  up  the  same  day 
that  horse  arrives  ? "  he  inquired  mildly.  "  Pop, 
you'll  have  to  prove  to  me  that  he  won't  run  Sun- 
day—'' 

Pop  snorted.  *'  Seems  to  me  like  you  do  know  a 
speedy  horse  when  you  see  one,  young  feller.  Beats 
me  't  you  been  overlookin'  what  you  got  under  yore 
saddle  right  now.  Boise,  he 's  the  best  runnin'  horse 
in  the  valley  —  and  that 's  why  he  won't  run  next 
Sunday,  ner  no  other  Sunday  till  somebuddy  brings  in 
a  strange  horse  to  put  agin  him.  Dave,  he  won't 
crowd  ye  fur  a  race,  boy.  You  kin  refuse  to  run  yore 
horse  agin  him,  like  the  rest  has  done.  I  '11  jest  lope 
along  t'day  and  see  what  yours  kin  do." 


98  Cow-Country 

"Well,  all  right,  then."  Bud  waited  for  the  old 
man  to  ride  ahead  down  the  obscure  trail  that  wound 
through  the  brush  for  half  a  mile  or  so  before  they 
emerged  into  the  rough  border  of  the  creek  bed.  Pop 
reined  in  close  and  explained  garrulously  to  Bud  how 
this  particular  stream  disappeared  into-  the  ground  two 
miles  above  Little  Lost,  leaving  the  wide,  level  river 
bottom  bone  dry. 

Pop  was  cautious.  He  rode  up  to  a  rise  of  ground 
and  scanned  the  country  suspiciously  before  he  led  the 
way  into  the  creek  bed.  Even  then  he  kept  close  under 
the  bank  until  they  had  passed  two  of  the  quarter-mile 
posts  that  had  been  planted  in  the  hard  sand. 

Evidently  he  had  been  doing  a  good  deal  of  thinking 
during  the  ride;  certainly  he  had  watched  Smoky. 
When  he  stopped  under  the  bank  opposite  the  half- 
mile  post  he  dismounted  more  spryly  than  one  would 
have  expected.  His  eyes  were  bright,  his  voice  sharp. 
Pop  was  forgetting  his  age. 

"  I  guess  I  '11  ride  yore  horse  m'self ,"  he  announced, 
and  they  exchanged  horses  under  the  shelter  of  the 
bank.  "  You  kin  take  an'  ride  Boise  —  an'  I  want  you 
should  beat  me  if  you  kin."  He  looked  at  Bud  ap- 
praisingly.  "  I  '11  bet  a  dollar,"  he  cried  suddenly, 
"that  I  kin  outrun  ye,  young  feller!  An'  you  got 
the  fastest  horse  in  Burroback  Valley  and  I  don't 
know  what  I  got  under  me.  I  'm  seventy  years  old 
come  September  —  when  I  'm  afoot.  Are  ye  afraid 
to  bet?" 

"  I  'm  scared  a  dollar's  worth  that  I  '11  never  see  you 
again  to-day  unless  I  ride  back  to  find  you,"  Bud 
grinned. 

"Any  time  you  lose  ole   Pop   Truman  —  shucks 


Little   Lost  99 

almighty !  Come  on,  then  —  I  '11  show  ye  the  way  to 
the  c[uarter-post !  " 

"  I  'm  right  with  you,  Pop.  You  say  so,  and  I  'm 
gone !  *' 

They  reined  in  with  the  shadow  of  the  post  falling 
square  across  the  necks  of  both  horses.  Pop  gathered 
up  the  reins,  set  his  feet  in  the  stirrups  and  shrilled, 
"  Go,  gol  darn  ye !  " 

They  went,  like  two  scared  rabbits  down  the  smooth, 
yellow  stretch  of  packed  sand.  Pop's  elbows  stuck 
straight  out,  he  held  the  reins  high  and  leaned  far  over 
Smoky's  neck,  his  eyes  glaring.  Bud  —  oh,  never 
worry  about  Bud!  In  the  years  that  lay  between 
thirteen  and  twenty-one  Bud  had  learned  a  good  many 
things,  and  one  of  them  was  how  to  get  out  of  a  horse 
all  the  speed  there  was  in  him. 

They  went  past  the  quarter-post  and  a  furlong  be- 
yond before  either  could  pull  up.  Pop  was  pale  and 
triumphant,  and  breathing  harder  than  his  mount. 

"  Here  's  your  dollar,  Pop  —  and  don't  you  talk  in 
your  sleep !  "  Bud  admonished,  smiling  as  he  held  out 
the  dollar,  but  with  an  anxious  tone  in  his  voice.  "If 
this  is  the  best  running  horse  you  've  got  in  the  valley, 
I  may  get  some  action,  next  Sunday !  " 

Pop  dismounted,  took  the  dollar  with  a  grin  and 
mounted  Boise  —  and  that  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
Boise  was  keyed  up  and  stepping  around  and  snorting 
for  another  race.  Bud  watched  Pop  queerly,  remem- 
bering how  feeble  had  been  the  old  man  whom  he  had 
met  at  the  corral. 

"  Say,  Pop,  you  ought  to  race  a  little  every  day," 
he  bantered.  "  You  're  fifteen  years  younger  than 
you  were  an  hour  ago." 


loo  Cow-Country 

For  answer  Pop  felt  of  his  back  and  groaned,  *'  Oh, 
I  '11  pay  f er  it,  young  feller !  I  don't  look  f er  much 
peace  with  my  back  fer  a  week,  after  this.  But  you 
kin  make  sure  of  one  thing,  and  that  is,  I  ain't  goin'  to 
talk  in  my  sleep  none.  By  Christmas,  we  '11  make  this 
horse  of  yours  bring  us  in  something!  I  guess  you 
better  turn  yore  horses  all  out  in  the  pasture.  Dave, 
he  '11  give  yuh  work  all  right.  I  '11  fix  it  with  Dave. 
And  you  listen  to  Pop,  young  feller.  I  '11  show  ye  a 
thing  or  two  about  runnin'  horses.  You  'n  me  '11  clean 
up  a  nice  little  bunch  of  money  —  he-he!  —  beat  Boise 
in  a  quarter  dash !  Tell  that  to  Dave,  an'  he  would  n't 
b'lieve  ye !  " 

When  Pop  got  off  at  the  back  of  the  stable  he  could 
scarcely  move,  he  was  so  stiff.  But  his  mind  was 
working  well  enough  to  see  that  Bud  rubbed  the 
saddle  print  off  Boise  and  turned  his  own  horses  loose 
in  the  pasture,  before  he  let  him  go  on  to  the  house. 
The  last  Bud  heard  from  Pop  that  forenoon  was  a 
senile  chuckle  and  a  cackling,  "  Outrun  Boise  in  a 
quarter  dash!  Shucks  a'mighty!  But  I  knew  it  —  I 
knew  he  had  the  speed  —  sho !  Ye  can't  fool  ole  Pop 
—  shucks !  " 


CHAPTER   TEN 
Bud  Meets  the  AVoman 

A  WOMAN  was  stooping  at  the  woodpile,  filling  her 
arms  with  crooked  sticks  of  rough-barked  sage.  From 
the  color  of  her  hair  Bud  knew  that  she  was  not 
Honey,  and  that  she  was  therefore  a  stranger  to  him. 
But  he  swung  off  the  path  and  went  over  to  her  as 
naturally  as  he  would  go  to  pick  up  a  baby  that  had 
fallen. 

"  I  '11  carry  that  in  for  you,"  he  said,  and  put  out 
his  hand  to  help  her  to  her  feet. 

Before  he  touched  her  she  was  on  her  feet  and 
looking  at  him.  Bud  could  not  remember  afterwards 
that  she  had  done  anything  else;  he  seemed  to  have 
seen  only  her  eyes,  and  into  them  and  beyond  them  to 
a  soul  that  somehow  made  his  heart  tremble. 

What  she  said,  what  he  answered,  was  of  no  mo- 
ment. He  could  not  have  told  afterwards  what  it  was. 
He  stooped  and  filled  his  arms  with  wood,  and  walked 
ahead  of  her  up  the  pathway  to  the  kitchen  door,  and 
stopped  when  she  flitted  past  him  to  show  him  where 
the  wood-box  stood.  He  was  conscious  then  of  her 
slenderness  and  of  the  lightness  of  her  steps.  He 
dropped  the  wood  into  the  box  behind  the  stove  on 
which  kettles  were  steaming.  There  was  the  smell  of 
chicken  stewing,  and  the  odor  of  fresh-baked  pies. 

She  smiled  up  at  him  and  offered  him  a  crisp,  warm 


I02  Cow-Country 


cookie  with  sug^^r^d  top,  ^nd  he  saw  her  eyes  again  and 
fel^f  the  'same  tremor ,cLt'  his  heart.  He  pulled  himself 
together  and  smiled  back  at  her,  thanked  her  and  went 
out,  stumbling  a  little  on  the  doorstep,  the  cookie  un- 
tasted  in  his  fingers. 

He  walked  down  to  the  corral  and  began  fumbling 
at  his  pack,  his  thoughts  hushed  before  the  revelation 
that  had  come  to  him. 

"  Her  hands  —  her  poor,  little,  red  hands !  "  he  said 
in  a  whisper  as  the  memory  of  them  came  suddenly. 
But  it  was  her  eyes  that  he  was  seeing  with  his  mind ; 
her  eyes,  and  what  lay  deep  within.  They  troubled 
him,  shook  him,  made  him  want  to  use  his  man- 
strength  against  something  that  was  hurting  her.  He 
did  not  know  what  it  could  be;  he  did  not  know  that 
there  was  anything  —  but  oddly  the  memory  of  his 
mother's  white  face  back  in  the  long  ago,  and  of  her 
tone  when  she  said,  "Oh,  God,  please f  came  back 
and  fitted  themselves  to  the  look  in  this  woman's  eyes. 

Bud  sat  down  on  his  canvas-wrapped  bed  and  lifted 
his  hat  to  rumple  his  hair  and  then  smooth  it  again, 
as  was  his  habit  when  worried.  He  looked  at  the 
cookie,  and  because  he  was  hungry  he  ate  it  with  a 
foolish  feeling  that  he  was  being  sentimental  as  the 
very  devil,  thinking  how  her  hands  had  touched  it.  He 
rolled  and  smoked  a  cigarette  afterwards,  and  won- 
dered who  she  was  and  whether  she  was  married,  and 
what  her  first  name  was. 

A  quiet  smoke  will  bring  a  fellow  to  his  senses  some- 
times when  nothing  else  will,  and  Bud  managed,  by 
smoking  two  cigarettes  in  rapid  succession,  to  restore 
himself  to  some  degree  of  sanity. 

"  Funny  how  she  made  me  think  of  mother,  back 


Bud   Meets  the  Woman      103 

when  I  was  a  kid  coming  up  from  Texas,"  he  mused. 
"  Mother 'd  Hke  her."  It  was  the  first  time  he  had 
ever  thought  just  that  about  a  girl.  "  She  's  no  rela- 
tion to  Honey,"  he  added.  "  I  'd  bet  a  horse  on  that." 
He  recalled  how  white  and  soft  were  Honey's  hands, 
and  he  swore  a  little.  "  Would  n't  hurt  her  to  get 
out  there  in  the  kitchen  and  help  with  the  cooking," 
he  criticised.  Then  suddenly  he  laughed.  "  Shucks 
a'mighty,  as  Pop  says!  with  those  two  girls  on  the 
ranch  I  '11  gamble  Dave  Truman  has  a  full  crew  of 
men  that  are  plumb  willing  to  work  for  their  board !  " 

The  stage  came,  and  Bud  turned  to  it  relievedly. 
After  that,  here  came  Dave  Truman  on  a  deep-chested 
roan.  Bud  knew  him  by  his  resemblance  to  the  old 
man,  who  came  shuffling  bent-backed  from  the  ma- 
chine-shed as  Dave  passed. 

Pop  beckoned,  and  Dave  reined  his  horse  that  way 
and  stopped  at  the  shed  door.  The  two  talked  for  a 
minute  and  Dave  rode  on,  passing  Bud  with  a  curt 
nod.  Pop  came  over  to  where  Bud  stood  leaning 
against  the  corral. 

"  How  are  you  feeling,  dad  ?  "  Bud  grinned  absently. 

"  Purty  stiff  an'  sore,  boy  —  my  rheumatics  is  bad 
to-day."  Pop  winked  solemnly.  "  I  spoke  to  Dave 
about  you  wantin'  a  job,  and  I  guess  likely  Dave  '11 
put  you  on.  They  's  plenty  to  do  —  hayin'  comin'  on 
and  all  that."  He  lowered  his  voice  mysteriously, 
though  there  was  no  man  save  Bud  within  a  hundred 
feet  of  him.  "  Don't  ye  go  'n  talk  horses  —  not  yet. 
Don't  let  on  like  yore  interested  much.  I  '11  tell  yuh 
when  to  take  'em  up." 

The  men  came  riding  in  from  the  hayfield,  some  in 
wagons,  two  astride  harnessed  work-horses,  and  one 


I04  Cow-Country 

long-legged  fellow  in  chaps  on  a  mower,  driving  a 
sweaty  team  that  still  had  life  enough  to  jump  side- 
wise  when  they  spied  Bud's  pack  by  the  corral.  The 
stage  driver  sauntered  up  and  spoke  to  the  men.  Bud 
went  over  and  began  to  help  unhitch  the  team  from 
the  mower,  and  the  driver  eyed  him  sharply  while  he 
grinned  his  greeting  across  the  backs  of  the  horses. 

"  Pop  says  you  're  looking  for  work,"  Dave  Tru- 
man observed,  coming  up.  "  Well,  if  you  ain't  scared 
of  it,  I  '11  stake  yuh  to  a  hayfork  after  dinner.  Where 
yuh  from  ?  " 

"  Just  right  now,  I  'm  from  the  Muleshoe.  Bud 
Birnie  's  my  name.     I  was  telling  dad  why  I  quit." 

"  Tell  me,"  Dave  directed  briefly.  "  Pop  ain't  as  re- 
liable as  he  used  to  be.    He  'd  never  get  it  out  straight." 

"  I  quit,"  said  Bud,  "  by  special  request."  He  pulled 
off  his  gloves  carefully  and  held  up  his  puffed  knuckles. 
"  I  got  that  on  Dirk  Tracy." 

The  driver  of  the  mower  shot  a  quick,  meaning 
glance  at  Dave,  and  laughed  shortly.  Dave  grinned  a 
little,  but  he  did  not  ask  what  had  been  the  trouble, 
as  Bud  had  half  expected  him  to  do.  Apparently  Dave 
felt  that  he  had  received  all  the  information  he  needed, 
for  his  next  remark  had  to  do  with  the  heat.  The  day 
was  a  "  weather  breeder  ",  he  declared,  and  he  was 
glad  to  have  another  man  to  put  at  the  hauling. 

An  iron  triangle  beside  the  kitchen  door  clamored 
then,  and  Bud,  looking  quickly,  saw  the  slim  little 
woman  with  the  big,  troubled  eyes  striking  the  iron 
bar  vigorously.  Dave  glanced  at  his  watch  and  led 
the  way  to  the  house,  the  hay  crew  hurrying  after  him. 

Fourteen  men  sat  down  to  a  long  table  with  a 
great  shuffling  of  feet  and  scraping  of  benches,  and 


Bud   Meets  the  Woman      105 

immediately  began  a  voracious  attack  upon  the  heapeid 
platters  of  chicken  and  dumplings  and  the  bowls  of 
vegetables.  Bud  found  a  place  at  the  end  where  he 
could  look  into  the  kitchen,  and  his  eyes  went  that  way 
as  often  as  they  dared,  following  the  swift  motions  of 
the  little  woman  who  poured  coffee  and  filled  empty 
dishes  and  said  never  a  word  to  anyone. 

He  was  on  the  point  of  believing  her  a  daughter  of 
the  house  when  a  square-jawed  man  of  thirty,  or  there- 
about, who  sat  at  Bud's  right  hand,  called  her  to  him 
as  he  might  have  called  his  dog,  by  snapping  his  fingers. 

She  came  and  stood  beside  Bud  while  the  man  spoke 
to  her  in  an  arrogant  undertone. 

"  Marian,  I  told  yuh  I  wanted  tea  for  dinner  after 
this.  D'you  bring  me  coffee  on  purpose,  just  to  be 
onery  ?  I  thought  I  told  yuh  to  straighten  up  and  quit 
that  sulkin'.     I  ain't  going  to  have  folks  think  —  " 

"  Oh,  be  quiet!  Shame  on  you,  before  everyone!  " 
she  whispered  fiercely  while  she  lifted  the  cup  and 
saucer. 

Bud  went  hot  all  over.  He  did  not  look  up  when 
she  returned  presently  with  a  cup  of  tea,  but  he  felt 
her  presence  poignantly,  as  he  had  never  before  sensed 
i  the  presence  of  a  woman.  When  he  was  able  to  swal- 
low his  wrath  and  meet  calmly  the  glances  of  these 
strangers  he  turned  his  head  casually  and  looked  the 
i  man  over. 

I  Her  husband,  he  guessed  the  fellow  to  be.  No  other 
relationship  could  account  for  that  tone  of  proprietor- 
ship, and  there  was  no  physical  resemblance  between 
I  the  two.  A  mean  devil,  Bud  called  him  mentally, 
with  a  narrow  forehead,  eyes  set  too  far  apart  and  the 
mouth  of  a  brute.    Someone  spoke  to  the  man,  calling 


io6  Cow-Country 

him  Lew,  and  he  answered  with  rough  good  humor, 
repeating  a  stale  witticism  and  laughing  at  it  just  as 
though  he  had  not  heard  others  say  it  a  hundred  times. 

Bud  looked  at  him  again  and  hated  him,  but  he  did 
not  glance  again  at  the  little  woman  named  Marian; 
for  his  own  peace  of  mind  he  did  not  dare.  He  thought 
that  he  knew  now  what  it  was  he  had  seen  in  the  depth 
of  her  eyes,  but  there  seemed  to  be  nothing  that  he 
could  do  to  help. 

That  evening  after  supper  Honey  Krause  called  to 
him  when  he  was  starting  down  to  the  bunk-house 
with  the  other  men.  What  she  said  was  that  she  still 
had  his  guitar  and  mandolin,  and  that  they  needed 
exercise.  What  she  looked  was  the  challenge  of  a 
bom  coquette.  In  the  kitchen  dishes  were  rattling, 
but  after  they  were  washed  there  would  be  a  little 
leisure,  perhaps,  for  the  kitchen  drudge.  Bud's  im- 
pulse to  make  his  sore  hands  an  excuse  for  refusing 
evaporated.  It  might  not  be  wise  to  place  himself 
deliberately  in  the  way  of  getting  a  hurt  —  but  youth 
never  did  stop  to  consult  a  sage  before  following  the 
lure  of  a  woman's  eyes. 

He  called  back  to  Honey  that  those  instruments 
ought  to  have  been  put  in  the  hayfield,  where  there  was 
more  exercise  than  the  men  could  use.  "  You  boys 
ought  to  come  and  see  me  safe  through  with  it,"  he 
added  to  the  loitering  group  around  him.  "  I  'm  afraid 
of  women." 

They  laughed  and  two  or  three  went  with  him.  Lew 
went  on  to  the  corral  and  presently  appeared  on  horse- 
back, riding  up  to  the  kitchen  and  leaving  his  horse 
standing  at  the  corner  while  he  went  inside  and  talked 
to  the  woman  he  had  called  Marian. 

I 


Bud   Meets  the  Woman      107 

Bud  was  carrying  his  guitar  outside,  where  it  was 
cooler,  when  he  heard  the  fellow's  arrogant  voice. 
The  dishes  ceased  rattling  for  a  minute,  and  there  was 
a  sharp  exclamation,  stifled  but  unmistakable.  In- 
voluntarily Bud  made  a  movement  in  that  direction, 
when  Honey's  voice  stopped  him  with  a  subdued  laugh. 

"  That 's  only  Lew  and  Mary  Ann,"  she  explained 
carelessly.  "  They  have  a  spat  every  time  they  come 
within  gunshot  of  each  other." 

The  lean  fellow  who  had  driven  the  mower,  and 
whose  name  was  Jerry  Myers,  edged  carelessly  close 
to  Bud  and  gave  him  a  nudge  with  his  elbow,  and  a 
glance  from  under  his  eyebrows  by  way  of  emphasis. 
He  turned  his  head  slightly,  saw  that  Honey  had  gone 
into  the  house,  and  muttered  just  above  a  whisper, 
"  Don't  see  or  hear  anything.  It 's  all  the  help  you 
can  give  her.  And  for  Lord's  sake  don't  let  on  to 
Honey  like  you  —  give  a  cuss  whether  it  rains  or  not, 
so  long  's  it  don't  pour  too  hard  the  night  of  the  dance." 

Bud  looked  up  at  the  darkening  sky  speculatively, 
and  tried  not  to  hear  the  voices  in  the  kitchen,  one  of 
which  was  brutally  harsh  while  the  other  told  of  hate 
and  fear  suppressed  under  gentle  forbearance.  The 
harsh  voice  was  almost  continuous,  the  other  infre- 
quent, reluctant  to  speak  at  all.  Bud  wanted  to  go  in 
and  smash  his  guitar  over  the  fellow's  head,  but  Jerry's 
warning  held  him.  There  were  other  ways,  however, 
to  help;  if  he  must  not  drive  off  the  tormentor,  then 
he  would  call  him  away.  He  ignored  his  bruised 
knuckles  and  plucked  the  guitar  strings  as  if  he  held 
a  grudge  against  them,  and  then  began  to  sing  the  first 
song  that  came  into  his  mind  —  one  that  started  in  a 
rollicky  fashion. 


io8  Cow-Country 

Men  came  straggling  up  from  the  bunk-house  before 
he  had  finished  the  first  chorus,  and  squatted  on  their 
heels  to  listen,  their  cigarettes  glowing  like  red  finger- 
tips in  the  dusk.  But  the  voice  in  the  kitchen  talked  on.. 
Bud  tried  another — ^one  of  those  old-time  favorites, 
a  "laughing  coon"  song,  though  he  felt  little  enough 
in  the  mood  for  it.  In  the  middle  of  the  first  laugh  he 
heard  the  kitchen  door  slam,  and  Lew's  footsteps  com- 
ing around  the  corner.  He  listened  until  the  song  was 
done,  then  mounted  and  rode  away.  Bud's  laugh  fol- 
lowing him  triumphantly  —  though  Lew  could  not 
have  guessed  its  meaning. 

Bud  sang  for  two  hours  expectantly,  but  Mariani 
did  not  appear,  and  Bud  went  off  to  the  bunk-housee 
feeling  that  his  attempt  to  hearten  her  had  been  a^ 
failure.  Of  Honey  he  did  not  think  at  all,  except  to 
wonder  if  the  two  women  were  related  in  any  way,  andii 
to  feel  that  if  they  were  Marian  was  to  be  pitied.  At 
that  point  Jerry  overtook  him  and  asked  for  a  match, 
which  gave  him  an  excuse  to  hold  Bud  behind  the 
others. 

"  Honey  like  to  have  caught  me,  to-night,"  Jerry 
observed  guardedly.     "  I  had  to  think  quick.    I  '11  tell 
you  the  lay  of  the  land,  Bud,  seeing  you  're  a  strangerr; 
here.     Marian's  man,  Lew,  he's  a  damned  bully  and^ 
•somebody  is  going  to  draw  a  fine  bead  on  him  some 
day  when  he  ain't  looking.     But  he  stands  in,  so  the^'j 
less  yuh  take  notice  the  better.     Marian,  she's  a  fine 
little  woman  that  minds  her  own  business,  but  she  's- 
getting  a  cold  deck  slipped  into  the  game  right  along. 
Honey's  jealous  of  her  and  afraid  somebody '11  give 
her  a  pleasant  look.     Lew  's  jealous,  and  he  watches 
her  like  a  cat  watches  a  mouse  it 's  caught  and  wants 


Bud   Meets   the   Woman      109 

to  play  with.  Between  the  two  of  *em  Marian  has  a 
real  nice  time  of  it.  I  'm  wising  you  up  so  you  won^t 
hand  her  any  more  misery  by  trying  to  take  her  part. 
Us  boys  have  learned  to  keep  our  mouths  shut." 

"Glad  you  told  me,"  Bud  muttered.  "Other- 
wise—  " 

"  Exactly,"  Jerry  agreed  understandingly.  "  Other- 
wise any  of  us  would." 

He  stopped  and  then  spoke  in  a  different  tone.  "If 
Lew  stays  off  the  ranch  long  enough,  maybe  you  '11 
get  to  hear  her  sing.  Wow-ee,  but  that  lady  has  sure 
got  the  meadow-larks  whipped!  But  look  out  for 
Honey,  old-timer." 

Bud  laughed  unmirthfully.  "  Looks  to  me  as  if 
you  are  n't  crazy  over  Honey,"  he  ventured.  "  What 
has  she  done  to  you  ?  " 

"Her?"  Jerry  inspected  his  cigarette,  listened  to 
the  whisper  of  prudence  in  his  ear,  and  turned  away. 
"  Forget  it.  I  never  said  a  word."  He  swept  the 
whole  subject  from  him  with  a  comprehensive  gesture, 
i  and  snorted.  "  I  'm  gettin'  as  bad  as  Pop,"  he  grinned. 
"  But  lemme  tell  yuh  something.  Honey  Krause  runs 
more  'n  the  post-office." 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN 
Guile  Against  the  Wily 

Bud  liked  to  have  his  Hfe  run  along  accustomed 
lines  with  a  more  or  less  perfect  balance  of  work  and 
play,  friendships  and  enmities.  He  had  grown  up 
with  the  belief  that  any  mystery  is  merely  a  synonym 
for  menace.  He  had  learned  to  be  wary  of  known 
enemies  such  as  Indians  and  outlaws,  and  to  trust  im- 
plicitly his  friends.  To  feel  now,  without  apparent 
cause,  that  his  friends  might  be  enemies  in  disguise, 
was  a  new  experience  that  harried  him. 

He  had  come  to  Little  Lost  on  Tuesday,  straight 
from  the  Muleshoe  where  his  presence  was  no  longer 
desired  for  some  reason  not  yet  satisfactorily  explained 
to  him.  You  know  what  happened  on  Tuesday.  That 
night  the  land  crouched  under  a  terrific  electric  storm, 
with  crackling  swords  of  white  death  dazzling  from 
inky  black  clouds,  and  ear-splitting  thunder  close  on  the 
heels  of  it.  Bud  had  known  such  storms  all  his  life, 
yet  on  this  night  he  was  uneasy,  vaguely  disturbed. 
He  caught  himself  wondering  if  Lew  Morris's  wife 
was  frightened,  and  the  realization  that  he  was  worry- 
ing about  her  fear  worried  him  more  than  ever  and 
held  him  awake  long  after  the  fury  of  the  storm  had 
passed. 

Next  day,  when  he  came  in  at  noon,  there  was  Hen, 


Guile   Against   the  Wily      iii 

from  the  Muleshoe,  waiting  for  dinner  before  he  rode 
back  with  the  mail.  Hen's  jaw  dropped  when  he  saw 
Bud  riding  on  a  Little  Lost  hay-wagon,  and  his  eyes 
bulged  with  what  Bud  believed  was  consternation.  All 
through  the  meal  Bud  had  caught  Hen  eyeing  him  mis- 
erably, and  looking  stealthily  from  him  to  the  others. 
No  one  paid  any  attention,  and  for  that  Bud  was 
rather  thankful;  he  did  not  want  the  Little  Lost  fel- 
lows to  think  that  perhaps  he  had  done  something 
which  he  knew  would  hang  him  if  it  were  discovered, 
which,  he  decided,  was  the  mildest  interpretation  a 
keen  observer  would  be  apt  to  make  of  Hen's  behavior. 

When  he  went  out.  Hen  was  at  his  heels,  trying  to 
say  something  in  his  futile,  tongue-tied  gobble.  Bud 
stopped  and  looked  at  him  tolerantly.  "  Hen,  it  *s  no 
use  —  you  might  as  well  be  talking  Chinese,  for  all  I 
know.  If  it 's  important,  write  it  down  or  I  '11  never 
know  what 's  on  your  mind." 

He  pulled  a  note-book  and  a  pencil  from  his  vest- 
pocket  and  gave  them  to  Hen,  who  looked  at  him 
dumbly,  worked  his  Adam's  apple  violently  and  re- 
treated to  his  horse,  fumbled  the  mail  which  was  tied 
in  the  bottom  of  a  flour  sack  for  safe  keeping,  sought  a 
sheltered  place  where  he  could  sit  down,  remained 
there  a  few  minutes,  and  then  returned  to  his  horse. 
He  beckoned  to  Bud,  who  was  watching  him  curiously, 
and  when  Bud  went  over  to  him  said  something  unin- 
telligible and  handed  back  the  note-book,  motioning 
for  caution  when  Bud  would  have  opened  the  book  at 
once. 

So  Bud  thanked  him  gravely,  but  with  a  twinkle  in 
his  eyes,  and  waited  until  Hen  had  gone  and  he  was 
alone  before  he  read  the  message.     It  was  mysterious 


112  Cow-Country 

enough,  certainly.    Hen  had  written  in  a  fine,  crampe 
uneven  hand: 

"  You  bee  earful,  bern  this  up  &  and  dont  let  on  like 
you  no  en)i;hing  but  i  warn  you  be  shure  bern  this  up." 

Bud  tore  out  the  page  and  burned  it  as  requested,  and 
since  he  was  not  enlightened  by  the  warning  he  obeyed 
Hen's  instructions  and  did  not  "  let  on."  But  he 
could  not  help  wondering,  and  was  unconsciously  pre- 
pared to  observe  little  things  which  ordinarily  would 
have  passed  unnoticed. 

At  the  dance  on  Friday  night,  for  instance,  there 
was  a  good  deal  of  drinking  and  mighty  little  hilarity. 
Bud  had  been  accustomed  to  loud  talk  and  much  horse- 
play outside  among  the  men  on  such  occasions,  and 
even  a  fight  or  two  would  be  accepted  as  a  matter  of 
course.  But  though  several  quart  bottles  were  passed 
around  during  the  night  and  thrown  away  empty  into 
the  bushes,  the  men  went  in  and  danced  and  came  out 
again  immediately  to  converse  confidentially  in  small 
groups,  or  to  smoke  without  much  speech.  The  men 
of  Burroback  Valley  were  not  running  true  to  form. 

The  women  were  much  like  all  the  women  of  cow- 
country:  mothers  with  small  children  who  early  be- 
came cross  and  sleepy  and  were  hushed  under  shawls 
on  the  most  convenient  bed,  a  piece  of  cake  in  their 
•hands;  mothers  whose  faces  were  lined  too  soon  with 
work  and  ill-health,  and  with  untidy  hair  that  became 
tmtidier  as  the  dance  progressed.  There  were  daugh- 
ters —  shy  and  giggling  to  hide  their  shyness  —  Bud 
knew  their  type  very  well  and  made  friends  with  them 
easily,  and  immediately  became  the  centre  of  a  clamor- 
ing audience  after  he  had  sung  a  song  or  two. 


Guile  Against  the  Wily      113 

There  was  Honey,  with  her  inscrutable  half  smile 
and  her  veiled  eyes,  condescending  to  graciousness  and 
quite  plainly  assuming  a  proprietary  air  toward  Bud, 
whom  she  put  through  whatever  musical  paces  pleased 
her  fancy.  Bud,  I  may  say,  was  extremely  tractable. 
When  Honey  said  sing,  Bud  sang ;  when  she  said  play. 
Bud  sat  down  to  the  piano  and  played  until  she  asked 
him  to  do  something  else.  It  was  all  very  pleasant  for 
Honey  —  and  Bud  ultimately  won  his  point  —  Honey 
decided  to  extend  her  graciousness  a  little. 

Why  had  n't  Bud  danced  with  Marian  ?  He  must  go 
right  away  and  ask  her  to  dance.  Just  because  Lew 
was  gone,  Marian  need  not  be  slighted  —  and  besides, 
there  were  other  fellows  who  might  want  a  little  of 
Honey's  time. 

So  Bud  went  away  and  found  Marian  in  the  pantry, 
cutting  cakes  while  the  coffee  boiled,  and  asked  her  to 
dance.  Marian  was  too  tired,  and  she  had  not  the 
time  to  spare;  wherefore  Bud  helped  himself  to  a  knife 
and  proceeded  to  cut  cakes  with  geometrical  precision, 
and  ate  all  the  crumbs.  With  his  hands  busy,  he  found 
the  courage  to  talk  to  her  a  little.  He  made  Marian 
laugh  out  loud  and  it  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever 
heard  her  do  that. 

Marian  disclosed  a  sense  of  humor,  and  even  teased 
Bud  a  little  about  Honey.  But  her  teasing  lacked  that 
edge  of  bitterness  which  Bud  had  half  expected  in 
retaliation  for  Honey's  little  air  of  superiority. 

"  Your  precision  in  cutting  cakes  is  very  much  like 
your  accurate  fingering  of  the  piano,"  she  observed 
irrelevantly,  surveying  his  work  with  her  lips  pursed. 
"A  pair  of  calipers  would  prove  every  piece  exactly 
the  same  width ;  and  even  when  you  play  a  Meditation 


114  Cow-Country 

I  'm  sure  the  metronome  would  waggle  in  perfect  uni- 
son with  your  tempo.  I  wonder  —  "  She  glanced  up 
at  him  speculatively.  "  —  I  wonder  if  you  think  with 
such  mathematical  precision.  Do  you  always  find  that 
two  and  two  make  four?  " 

"  You  mean,  have  I  any  imagination  whatever  ?  " 
Bud  looked  away  from  her  eyes  —  toward  the  un- 
curtained, high  little  window.  A  face  appeared  there, 
as  if  a  tall  man  had  glanced  in  as  he  was  passing  by 
and  halted  for  a  second  to  look.  Bud's  eyes  met  full 
the  eyes  of  the  man  outside,  who  tilted  his  head  back- 
ward in  a  significant  movement  and  passed  on.  Marian 
turned  her  head  and  caught  the  signal,  looked  at  Bud 
quickly,  a  little  flush  creeping  into  her  cheeks. 

"  I  hope  you  have  a  little  imagination,"  she  said, 
lowering  her  voice  instinctively.  "  It  does  n't  require 
much  to  see  that  Jerry  is  right.  The  conventions  are 
strictly  observed  at  Little  Lost  —  in  the  kitchen,  at 
least,"  she  added,  under  her  breath,  with  a  flash  of  re- 
sentment. "  Run  along  —  and  the  next  time  Honey 
asks  you  to  play  the  piano,  will  you  please  play  Lotiis- 
hlumef  And  when  you  have  thrown  open  the  prison 
windows  with  that,  will  you  play  Schubert's  Ave  Maria 
—  the  way  you  play  it  —  to  send  a  breath  of  cool  night 
air  in?  " 

She  put  out  the  tips  of  her  fingers  and  pressed  them 
lightly  against  Bud's  shoulder,  turning  toward  the 
door.  Bud  started,  stepped  into  the  kitchen,  wheeled 
about  and  stood  regarding  her  with  a  stubborn  look 
in  his  eyes. 

"  I  might  kick  the  door  down,  too,"  he  said.  "  I 
don't  like  prisons  nohow." 

''No  —  just  a  window,  thank  you,"  she  laughed. 


Guile  Against  the  Wily      115 

Bud  thought  the  laugh  did  not  go  very  deep.  "  Jerry 
wants  to  talk  to  you.  He  's  the  whitest  of  the  lot,  if 
you  can  call  that  —  "  she  stopped  abruptly,  put  out  a 
hand  to  the  door,  gave  him  a  moment  to  look  into  her 
deep,  troubled  eyes,  and  closed  the  door  gently  but 
inexorably  in  his  face. 

Jerry  was  standing  at  the  comer  of  the  house  smok- 
ing negligently.  He  waited  until  Bud  had  come  close 
alongside  him,  then  led  the  way  slowly  down  the  path 
to  the  corrals. 

*'  I  thought  I  heard  the  horses  fighting,'*  he  re- 
marked.    "  There  was  a  noise  down  this  way." 

"  Is  that  why  you  called  me  outside?  "  asked  Bud, 
who  scorned  subterfuge. 

"  Yeah.  I  saw  you  was  n't  dancing  or  singing  or 
playing  the  piano  —  and  I  knew  Honey  'd  likely  be 
looking  you  up  to  do  one  or  the  other,  in  a  minute. 
She  sure  likes  you.  Bud.  She  don't,  everybody  that 
comes  along." 

Bud  did  not  want  to  discuss  Honey,  wherefore  he 
made  no  reply,  and  they  walked  along  in  silence,  the 
cool,  heavy  darkness  grateful  after  the  oil  lamps  and 
the  heat  of  crowded  rooms.  As  they  neared  the  cor- 
rals a  stable  door  creaked  open  and  shut,  yet  there  was 
no  wind.  Jerry  halted,  one  hand  going  to  Bud's  arm. 
They  stood  for  a  minute,  and  heard  the  swish  of  the 
bushes  behind  the  corral,  as  if  a  horse  were  passing 
through.  Jerry  turned  back,  leading  Bud  by  the  arm. 
They  were  fifty  feet  away  and  the  bushes  were  still 
again  before  Jerry  spoke  guardedly. 

"  I  guess  I  made  a  mistake.  There  was  n't  nothing," 
he  said,  and  dropped  Bud's  arm. 

Bud  stopped.    "  There  was  a  man  riding  off  in  the 


1 1 6  Cow-Country 


brush,"  he  said  bluntly,  "  and  all  the  folks  that  came 
to  the  dance  rode  in  through  the  front  gate.  I  reckon 
I  '11  just  take  a  look  where  I  left  my  saddle,  any- 
way." 

"  That  might  have  been  some  loose  stock,"  Jerry 
argued,  but  Bud  went  back,  wondering  a  little  at  Jerry's 
manner. 

The  saddle  was  all  right,  and  so  was  everything  else, 
so  far  as  Bud  could  determine  in  the  dark,  but  he  was 
not  satisfied.  He  thought  he  understood  Jerry's  rea- 
son for  bringing  him  down  to  the  corrals,  but  he  could 
not  understand  Jerry's  attitude  toward  an  incident 
which  any  man  would  have  called  suspicious. 

Bud  quietly  counted  noses  when  he  returned  to  the 
house  and  found  that  supper  was  being  served,  but  he 
could  not  recall  any  man  who  was  missing  now.  Every 
guest  and  every  man  on  the  ranch  was  present  except 
old  Pop,  who  had  a  little  shack  to  himself  and  went  to 
bed  at  dark  every  night. 

Bud  was  mystified,  and  he  hated  mysteries.  More- 
over, he  was  working  for  Dave  Truman,  and  what- 
ever might  concern  Little  Lost  concerned  him  also. 
But  the  men  had  begun  to  talk  openly  of  their  various 
"  running  horses  ",  and  to  exchange  jibes  and  boasts 
and  to  bet  a  little  on  Sunday's  races.  Bud  wanted  to 
miss  nothing  of  that,  and  Jerry's  indifference  to  the 
incident  at  the  stable  served  to  reassure  him  for  the 
time  being.  He  edged  close  to  the  group  where  the 
talk  was  loudest,  and  listened. 

A  man  they  called  Jeff  was  trying  to  jeer  his  neigh- 
bors into  betting  against  a  hgrse  called  Skeeter,  andj 
was  finding  them  too  cautious   for  his  liking.     H< 
laughed  and,  happening  to  catch  Bud's  eyes  upon  him,| 


Guile  Against   the  Wily      117 

strode  fonvard  with  an  empty  tin  cup  in  his  hand  and 
slapped  Bud  friendliwise  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Why,  I  bet  this  singin'  kid,  that  don't  know  what 
I  got  ner  what  you  fellers  has  got,  ain't  scared  to  take 
a  chance.  Are  yuh,  kid  ?  What  d'  yuh  think  of  this 
pikin'  bunch  here  that  has  seen  Skeeter  come  in  second 
and  third  more  times  'n  what  he  beat,  and  yet  is  afraid 
to  take  a  chance  on  losin'  two  bits  ?  What  d'  yuh  think 
of  'em ?    Ain't  they  an  onery  bunch?  " 

"I  suppose  they  hate  to  lose,"  Bud  grinned. 

"  That 's  it  —  money  's  more  to  'em  than  the  sport 
of  kings,  which  is  runnin'  horses.  This  bunch,  kid, 
belly-ached  till  Dave  took  his  horse  Boise  outa  the 
game,  and  now,  by  gosh,  they  're  backin'  up  from  my 
Skeeter,  that  has  been  beat  more  times  than  he  won." 

"When  you  pulled  him,  Jeff!"  a  mocking  voice 
drawled.  "  And  that  was  when  you  wasn't  bettin', 
yourself." 

Jeff  turned  injuredly  to  Bud.  "  Now  don't  that 
sound  like  a  piker?  "  he  complained.  "  It  ain't  reason 
to  claim  I  'd  pull  my  own  horse.  Ain't  that  the  out- 
doinest  way  to  come  back  at  a  man  that  likes  a  good 
race?" 

Bud  swelled  his  chest  and  laid  his  hand  on  Jeff's 
shoulder.  "  Just  to  show  you  I  'm  not  a  piker,"  he 
cried  recklessly,  "  I  '11  bet  you  twenty-five  dollars  I 
can  beat  your  Skeeter  with  my  Smoky  horse  that  I 
rode  in  here.     Is  it  a  go  ?  " 

Jeff's  jaw  dropped  a  little,  with  surprise.  "  What 
fer  horse  is  this  here  Smoky  horse  of  yourn?"  he 
wanted  to  know. 

Bud  winked  at  the  group,  which  cackled  gleefully. 
**  I  love  the  sport  of  kings,"  he  said.     "  I  love  it  so 


1 1 8  Cow-Country 

well  I  don't  have  to  see  your  Skeeter  horse  till  Sun- 
day. From  the  way  these  boys  sidestep  him,  I  guess 
he  's  a  sure-enough  running  horse.  My  Smoky  's  a 
good  little  horse,  too,  but  he  never  scared  a  bunch  till 
they  had  cramps  in  the  pockets.  Still,"  he  added  with 
a  grin,  "  I  '11  try  anything  once.  I  bet  you  twenty-five 
dollars  my  Smoky  can  beat  your  Skeeter." 

"  Say,  kid,  honest  I  hate  to  take  it  away  from  yuh. 
Honest,  I  do.  The  way  you  can  knock  the  livin'  tar 
outa  that  pyanny  is  a  caution  to  cats.  I  c'd  listen 
all  night.    But  when  it  comes  to  runnin'  horses  —  " 

"  Are  you  afraid  of  your  money?  "  Bud  asked  him 
arrogantly.     "  You  called  this  a  bunch  of  pikers  —  " 

"  Well,  by  golly,  it  '11  be  your  own  fault,  kid.  If  I 
take  your  money  away  from  yuh,  don't  go  and  blame 
it  onto  me.  Mebbe  these  fellers  has  got  some  cause  to 
sidestep  —  " 

"  All  right,  the  bet 's  on.  And  I  won't  blame  you  if 
I  lose.  Smoky  's  a  good  little  horse.  Don't  think  for 
a  minute  I  'm  giving  you  my  hard  earned  coin.  You  '11 
have  to  throw  up  some  dust  to  get  it,  old-timer.  I 
forgot  to  say  I  'd  like  to  make  it  a  quarter  dash." 

"  A  quarter  dash  it  is,"  Jeff  agreed  derisively  as 
Bud  turned  to  answer  the  summons  of  the  music  which 
was  beginning  again. 

The  racing  enthusiasts  lingered  outside,  and  Bud 
smiled  to  himself  while  he  whirled  Honey  twice  around 
in  an  old-fashioned  waltz.  He  had  them  talking  about 
him,  and  wondering  about  his  horse.  When  they  saw 
Smoky  they  would  perhaps  call  him  a  chancey  kid.  He 
meant  to  ask  Pop  about  Skeeter,  though  Pop  seemed 
confident  that  Smoky  would  win  against  anything  in 
the  valley. 


Guile   Against   the  Wily      119 

But  on  the  other  hand,  he  had  seen  in  his  short  ac- 
quaintance with  Little  Lost  that  Pop  was  considered 
childish  —  that  comprehensive  accusation  which  be- 
littles the  wisdom  of  age.  The  boys  made  it  a  point 
to  humor  him  without  taking  him  seriously.  Honey 
pampered  him  and  called  him  Poppy,  while  in  Marian's 
chill  courtesy,  in  her  averted  glances.  Bud  had  read  her 
dislike  of  Pop.  He  had  seen  her  hand  shrink  away 
from  contact  with  his  hand  when  she  set  his  coffee 
beside  his  plate. 

But  Bud  had  heard  others  speak  respectfully  of 
Boise,  and  regret  that  he  was  too  fast  to  run.  Pop 
might  be  childish  on  some  subjects,  but  Bud  rather 
banked  on  his  judgment  of  horses  —  and  Pop  was 
penurious  and  anxious  to  win  money. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  about?  "  Honey  demanded 
when  the  music  stopped.  "  Something  awful  impor- 
tant, I  guess,  to  make  you  want  to  keep  right  on  danc- 
ing!" 

"  I  was  thinking  of  horse-racing,"  Bud  confessed, 
glad  that  he  could  tell  her  the  truth. 

"  Ah,  you !  Don't  let  them  make  a  fool  of  you. 
Some  of  the  fellows  would  bet  the  shirt  off  their  backs, 
on  a  horse-race!    You  look  out  for  them,  Bud." 

"  They  would  n't  bet  any  more  than  I  would,"  Bud 
boldly  declared.     "  I  've  bet  already  against  a  horse 
i  I  've  never  seen.    How  's  that  ?  " 

I       "  That 's  crazy.    You  '11  lose,  and  serve  you  right." 

i  She  went  off  to  dance  with  someone  else,  and  Bud 

i|  turned  smiling  to  find  a  passable  partner  amongst  the 

older  women  —  for  he  was  inclined  to  caution  where 

strange  girls  were  concerned.     Much  trouble  could 

come  to  a  stranger  who  danced  with  a  girl  who  hap- 


I20  Cow-Country 

pened  to  have  a  jealous  sweetheart,  and  Bud  did  not 
court  trouble  of  that  kind.  He  much  preferred  to 
fight  over  other  things.  Besides,  he  had  no  wish  to 
antagonize  Honey. 

But  his  dance  with  some  faded,  heavy-footed  woman 
was  not  to  be.  Jerry  once  more  signalled  him  and  drew 
him  outside  for  a  little  private  conference.  Jerry  was 
ill  at  ease  and  inclined  to  be  reproachful  and  even  con- 
demnatory. 

He  wanted  first  to  know  why  Bud  had  been  such  a 
many  kinds  of  a  fool  as  to  make  that  bet  with  Jeff  Hall. 
All  the  fellows  were  talking  about  it.  "  They  was  ask- 
ing me  what  kind  of  a  horse  you  Ve  got  —  and  I 
would  n't  put  it  past  Jeff  and  his  bunch  to  pull  some 
kind  of  a  dirty  trick  on  you,"  he  complained.  "  Bud,  on 
the  square,  I  like  you  a  whole  lot.  You  seem  kinda  in- 
nocent, in  some  ways,  and  in  other  ways  you  don't.  I 
wish  you  'd  tell  me  just  one  thing,  so  I  can  sleep  com- 
fortable. Have  you  got  some  scheme  of  your  own? 
Or  what  the  devil  ails  you?" 

"  Well,  I  Ve  just  got  a  notion,"  Bud  admitted.  "  I  'm 
going  to  have  some  fun  watching  those  fellows  per- 
form, whether  I  win  or  lose.  I  Ve  spent  as  much  as 
twenty-five  dollars  on  a  circus,  before  now,  and  felt 
that  I  got  the  worth  of  my  money,  too.  I  'm  going  to 
enjoy  myself  real  well,  next  Sunday." 

Jerry  glanced  behind  him  and  lowered  his  voice, 
speaking  close  to  Bud's  ear.  "Well,  there's  some- 
thing I  'd  like  to  say  that  it  ain't  safe  to  say.  Bud. 
I  'd  hate  like  hell  to  see  you  get  in  trouble.  Go  as  far 
as  you  like  having  fun  —  but  —  oh,  hell!  What's 
the  use?  "  He  turned  abruptly  and  went  inside,  leav- 
ing Bud  staring  after  him  rather  blankly. 


Guile  Against  the  Wily      121 

Jerry  did  not  strike  Bud  as  being  the  kind  of  a  man 
who  goes  around  interfering  with  every  other  man's 
business.  He  was  a  quiet,  good-natured  young  fellow 
with  quizzical  eyes  of  that  mixed  color  which  we  call 
hazel  simply  because  there  is  more  brown  than  gray 
or  green.  He  did  not  talk  much,  but  he  observed  much. 
Bud  was  strongly  inclined  to  heed  Jerry's  warning,  but 
it  was  too  vague  to  have  any  practical  value  —  "  about 
like  Hen's  note,"  Bud  concluded.  "  Well-meaning  but 
hazy.  Like  a  red  danger  flag  on  a  railroad  crossing 
where  the  track  is  torn  up  and  moved.  I  saw  one,  once, 
and  my  horse  threw  a  fit  at  it  and  almost  piled  me.  I 
figured  that  the  red  flag  created  the  danger,  where  I 
was  concerned.  Still,  I  'd  like  to  oblige  Jerry  and  side- 
step something  or  other,  but  ..." 

His  thoughts  grew  less  distinct,  merged  into  word- 
less rememberings  and  conjectures,  clarified  again  into 
terse  sentences  which  never  reached  the  medium  of 
speech. 

"  Well,  I  '11  just  make  sure  they  don't  try  out  Smoke 
when  I  'm  not  looking,"  he  decided,  and  slipped  away 
in  the  dark. 

By  a  roundabout  way  which  avoided  the  trail  he 
managed  to  reach  the  pasture  fence  without  being  seen. 
No  horses  grazed  in  sight,  and  he  climbed  through  and 
went  picking  his  way  across  the  lumpy  meadow  in  the 
starlight.  At  the  farther  side  he  found  the  horses 
standing  out  on  a  sandy  ridge  where  the  mosquitoes 
were  not  quite  so  pestiferous.  The  Little  Lost  horses 
snorted  and  took  to  their  heels,  his  three  following 
for  a  short  distance. 

Bud  stopped  and  whistled  a  peculiar  call  invented 
long  ago  when  he  was  just  Buddy,  and  watched  over 


122  Cow-Country 

the  Tomahawk  remuda.  Every  horse  with  the  Toma- 
hawk brand  knew  that  summons  —  though  not  every 
horse  would  obey  it.  But  these  three  had  come  when 
they  were  sucking  colts,  if  Buddy  whistled;  and  in 
their  breaking  and  training,  in  the  long  trip  north,  they 
had  not  questioned  its  authority.  They  turned  and 
trotted  back  to  him  now  and  nosed  Bud's  hands  which 
he  held  out  to  them. 

He  petted  them  all  and  talked  to  them  in  an  affec- 
tionate murmur  which  they  answered  by  sundry  lip- 
nibbles  and  subdued  snorts.  Smoky  he  singled  out 
finally,  rubbing  his  back  and  sides  with  the  flat  of  his 
hand  from  shoulder  to  flank,  and  so  to  the  rump  and 
down  the  thigh  to  the  hock  to  the  scanty  fetlock  which 
told,  to  those  who  knew,  that  here  was  an  aristocrat 
among  horses. 

Smoky  stood  quiet,  and  Bud's  hand  lingered  there, 
smoothing  the  slender  ankle.  Bud's  fingers  felt  the 
fine-haired  tail,  then  gave  a  little  twitch.  He  was  busy 
for  a  minute,  kneeling  in  the  sand  with  one  knee,  his 
head  bent.  Then  he  stood  up,  went  forward  to 
Smoky's  head,  and  stood  rubbing  the  horse's  nose 
thoughtfully. 

"  I  hate  to  do  it,  old  boy  —  but  I  'm  working  to 
make  us  a  home  —  we  've  got  to  work  together.  And 
I  'm  not  asking  any  more  of  you  than  I  'd  be  willing 
to  do  myself,  if  I  were  a  horse  and  you  were  a  man." 

He  gave  the  three  horses  a  hasty  pat  apiece  and 
started  back  across  the  meadow  to  the  fence.  They 
followed  him  like  pet  dogs  —  and  when  Bud  glanced 
back  over  his  shoulder  he  saw  in  the  dim  light  that 
Smoky  walked  with  a  slight  limp. 


CHAPTER  TWELVE 
Sport  o'  Kings 

Sunday  happened  to  be  fair,  with  not  too  strong  a 
wind  blowing.  Before  noon  Little  Lost  ranch  was  a 
busy  place,  and  just  before  dinner  it  became  busier. 
Horse-racing  seemed  to  be  as  popular  a  sport  in  the 
valley  as  dancing.  Indeed,  men  came  riding  in  who 
had  not  come  to  the  dance.  The  dry  creek-bed  where 
the  horses  would  run  had  no  road  leading  to  it,  so  that 
all  vehicles  came  to  Little  Lost  and  remained  there 
while  the  passengers  continued  on  foot  to  the  races. 

At  the  corral  fresh  shaven  men,  in  clean  shirts  to 
distinguish  this  as  a  dress-up  occasion,  foregathered, 
looking  over  the  horses  and  making  bets  and  arguing. 
Pop  shambled  here  and  there,  smoking  cigarettes  furi- 
ously and  keeping  a  keen  ear  toward  the  loudest  bet- 
ting. He  came  sidling  up  to  Bud,  who  was  leading 
Smoky  out  of  the  stable,  and  his  sharp  eyes  took  in 
every  inch. of  the  horse  and  went  inquiringly  to  Bud's 
face. 

"  Goin'  to  run  him,  young  feller  —  lame  as  what  he 
is?  '*  he  demanded  sharply. 

"  Going  to  try,  anyway,"  said  Bud.  "  I  Ve  got  a 
bet  up  on  him,  dad." 

"  Sho!    Fixin'  to  lose,  air  ye?    You  kin  call  it  off. 


124  Cow-Country 

like  as  not.  Jeff  ain't  so  onreason'ble  't  he'd  make 
yuh  run  a  lame  horse.    Air  yuh,  Jeff  ?  " 

Jeff  strolled  up  and  looked  Smoky  over  with  criti- 
cal eyes.  "  What 's  the  matter  ?  Ain't  the  kid  game 
to  run  him?    Looks  to  me  like  a  good  little  goer." 

"He's  got  a  limp — but  I'll  run  him  anyway." 
Bud  glanced  up.  "  Maybe  when  he 's  warmed  up  he  '11 
forget  about  it." 

"  Seen  my  Skeeter?  " 

"  Good  horse,  I  should  judge,"  Bud  observed  in- 
differently.    "  But^  I  ain't  worrying  any." 

"  Well,  neither  am  I,"  Jeff  grinned. 

Pop  stood  teetering  back  and  forth,  plainly  uneasy. 
"  I  'd  rub  him  right  good  with  liniment,"  he  advised 
Bud.     "  I  '11  git  some  't  I  know  ought  t'  help." 

"  What 's  the  matter,  Pop  ?  You  got  money  up  on 
that  cayuse  ?  "  Jeff  laughed. 

Pop  whirled  on  him.  "  I  ain't  got  money  up  on  him, 
no.  But  if  he  was  n't  lame  I  'd  have  some!  I  'd  show 
ye  't  I  admire  gameness  in  a  kid.     I  would  so." 

Jeff  nudged  his  neighbor  into  laughter.  "  There 
ain't  a  gamer  old  bird  in  the  valley  than  Pop,"  Jeff 
cried.  "  Cm  awn.  Pop,  I  '11  bet  yuh  ten  dollars  the 
kid  beats  me !  " 

Pop  was  shuffling  hurriedly  out  of  the  corral  after 
the  liniment.  To  Jeff's  challenge  he  made  no  reply 
whatever.  The  group  around  Jeff  shooed  Smoky 
gently  toward  the  other  side  of  the  corral,  thereby 
convincing  themselves  of  the  limp  in  his  right  hind 
foot.  While  not  so  pronounced  as  to  be  crippling,  it 
certainly  was  no  asset  to  a  running  horse,  and  the 
wise  ones  conferred  together  in  undertones. 

"  That  there  kid  's  a  born  fool,"  Dave  Truman  stated 


Sport   o'    Kings  125 

positively.  "  The  horse  can't  run.  He  's  got  the  look 
of  a  speedy  little  animal  —  but  shucks !  The  kid  don't 
know  anything  about  running  horses.  I  Ve  been  talk- 
ing to  him,  and  I  know.  Jeff,  you  're  taking  the  money 
away  from  him  if  you  run  that  race." 

"  Well,  I  'm  giving  the  kid  a  chance  to  back  out," 
Jeff  hastened  to  declare.  "  He  can  put  it  off  till  his 
horse  gits  well,  if  he  wants  to.  I  ain't  going  to  hold 
him  to  it.    I  never  said  I  was." 

"  That 's  mighty  kind  of  you,"  Bud  said,  coming 
up  from  behind  with  a  bottle  of  liniment,  and  with 
Pop  at  his  heels.  "  But  I  '11  run  him  just  the  same. 
Smoky  has  favored  this  foot  before,  and  it  never 
seemed  to  hurt  him  any.  You  need  n't  think  I  'm 
going  to  crawfish.  You  must  think  I  'm  a  whining 
cuss  —  say !  I  '11  bet  another  ten  dollars  that  I  don't 
come  in  more  than  a  neck  behind,  lame  horse  or  not !  " 

"  Now,  kid,  don't  git  chancey,"  Pop  admonished 
uneasily.  "  Twenty-five  is  enough  money  to  donate  to 
Jeff." 

"  That 's  right,  kid.  I  like  your  nerve,"  Jeff  cut  in, 
emphasizing  his  approval  with  a  slap  on  Bud's  shoulder 
as  he  bent  to  lift  Smoky's  leg.  "  I  've  saw  worse 
horses  than  this  one  come  in  ahead  —  it  would  n't  be 
no  sport  o'  kings  if  nobody  took  a  chance." 

"  I  'm  taking  chance  enough,"  Bud  retorted  without 
looking  up.  "  If  I  don't  win  this  time  I  will  the  next, 
maybe." 

"  That 's  right,"  Jeff  agreed  heartily,  winking 
broadly  at  the  others  behind  Bud's  back. 

Bud  rubbed  Smoky's  ankle  with  liniment,  listened  to 
various  and  sundry  self-appointed  advisers  and,  with- 
out seeming  to  think  how  the  sums  would  total,  took 


126  Cow-Country 


several  other  small  bets  on  the  race.  They  were  small 
—  Pop  began  to  teeter  back  and  forth  and  lift  his  shoul- 
ders and  pull  his  beard  —  sure  signs  of  perturbation. 

"  By  Christmas,  I  '11  just  put  up  ten  dollars  on  the 
kid,"  Pop  finally  cackled.  "  I  ain't  got  much  to  lose  — 
but  I  '11  show  yuh  old  Pop  ain't  going  to  see  the  young 
feller  stand  alone."  He  tried  to  catch  Bud's  eye,  but 
that  young  man  was  busy  saddling  Smoky  and  re- 
turning jibe  for  jibe  with  the  men  around  him,  and 
did  not  glance  toward  Pop  at  all. 

"  I  '11  take  this  bottle  in  my  pocket.  Pop,"  he  said 
with  his  back  toward  the  old  man,  and  mounted  care- 
lessly. "  I  '11  ride  him  around  a  little  and  give  him 
another  good  rubbing  before  we  run.  I  'm  betting," 
he  added  to  the  others  frankly,  "  on  the  chance  that 
exercise  and  the  liniment  will  take  the  soreness  out  of 
that  ankle.  I  don't  believe  it  amounts  to  anything  at 
all.     So  if  any  of  you  fellows  want  to  bet  —  " 

"  Shucks !  Don't  go  'n  —  "  Pop  began,  and  bit  the 
sentence  in  two,  dropping  immediately  into  a  deep 
study.  The  kid  was  getting  beyond  Pop's  understand- 
ing. 

A  crowd  of  perhaps  a  hundred  men  and  women  — 
with  a  generous  sprinkling  of  unruly  juveniles  — lined 
the  sheer  bank  of  the  creek-bed  and  watched  the  horses 
run,  and  screamed  their  cheap  witticisms  at  the  losers, 
and  their  approval  of  those  who  won.  The  youngster 
with  the  mysterious  past  and  the  foolhardiness  to  bet 
on  a  lame  horse  they  v^atched  and  discussed,  the  women 
plainly  wishing  he  would  win  —  because  he  was  hand- 
some and  young,  and  such  a  wonderful  musician.  The 
men  were  more  cold-blooded.  They  could  not  see  that 
Bud's  good  looks  or  the  haunting  melody  of  his  voice 


sport  o'    Kings  127 

had  any  bearing  whatever  upon  his  winning  a  race. 
They  called  him  a  fool,  and  either  refused  to  bet  at  all 
on  such  a  freak  proposition  as  a  lame  horse  running 
against  Skeeter,  or  bet  against  him.  A  few  of  the 
wise  ones  wondered  if  Jeff  and  his  bunch  were  merely 
"  stringing  the  kid  along  ";  if  they  might  not  let  him 
win  a  little,  just  to  make  him  more  "  chancey."  But 
they  did  not  think  it  wise  to  bet  on  that  probability. 

While  three  races  were  being  run  Bud  rode  with  the 
Little  Lost  men,  and  Smoky  still  limped  a  little.  Jerry 
Myers,  still  self-appointed  guardian  of  Bud,  herded 
him  apart  and  called  him  a  fool  and  implored  him  to 
call  the  race  off  and  keep  his  money  in  his  own  pocket. 

Bud  was  thinking  just  then  about  a  certain  little 
woman  who  sat  on  the  creek  bank  with  a  wide-brimmed 
straw  hat  shading  her  wonderful  eyes,  and  a  pair  of 
little,  high-arched  feet  tapping  heels  absently  against 
the  bank  wall.  Honey  sat  beside  her,  and  a  couple  of 
the  valley  women  whom  Bud  had  met  at  the  dance. 
He  had  ridden  close  and  paused  for  a  few  friendly 
sentences  with  the  quartette,  careful  to  give  Honey  the 
attention  she  plainly  expected.  But  it  was  not  Honey 
who  wore  the  wide  hat  and  owned  the  pretty  little  feet. 
Bud  pulled  his  thoughts  back  from  a  fruitless  wish 
that  he  might  in  some  way  help  that  little  woman 
whose  trouble  looked  from  her  eyes,  and  whose  lips 
smiled  so  bravely.  He  did  not  think  of  possession 
when  he  thought  of  her;  it  was  the  look  in  her  eyes, 
and  the  slighting  tones  in  which  Honey  spoke  of  her. 

"  Say,  come  alive !  What  yuh  going  off  in  a  trance 
for,  when  I  'm  talking  to  yuh  for  your  own  good  ?  '* 
Jerry  smiled  whimsically,  but  his  eyes  were  worried. 

Bud   pulled    himself    together    and    reined    closer. 


128  Cow-Country 

"  Don't  bet  anything  on  this  race,  Jerry/'  he  advised. 
"Or  if  you  do,  don't  bet  on  Skeeter.  But  —  well, 
I  '11  just  trade  you  a  little  advice  for  all  you  've  given 
me.     Don't  bet!'' 

"  What  the  hell ! "  surprise  jolted  out  of  Jerry. 

"  It 's  my  funeral,"  Bud  laughed.  "  I  'm  a  chancey; 
kid,  you  see  —  but  I  'd  hate  to  see  you  bet  on  me.' ' 
He  pulled  up  to  watch  the  next  race  —  four  nervy 
little  cow-horses  of  true  range  breeding,  going  downi 
to  the  quarter  post. 

"  They  're  going  to  make  false  starts  aplenty,"  Bud: 
remarked  after  the  first  fluke.  "  Jeff  and  I  have  it  out; 
next.  I'll  just  give  Smoke  another  treatment."  He 
dismounted,  looked  at  Jerry  undecidedly  and  slapped 
him  on  the  knee.  "  I  'm  glad  to  have  a  friend  like  you,'' 
he  said  impulsively.  "  There  's  a  lot  of  two-faced  sin- 
ners around  here  that  would  steal  a  man  blind.  Don'l 
think  I  'm  altogether  a  fool." 

Jerry  looked  at  him  queerly,  opened  his  mouth  anc 
shut  it  again  so  tightly  that  his  jawbones  stood  out  z 
little.  He  watched  Bud  bathing  Smoky's  ankle.  When 
Bud  was  through  and  handed  Jerry  the  bottle  to  keq 
for  him,  Jerry  held  him  for  an  instant  by  the  hand. 

"  Say,  for  Gawdsake  don't  talk  like  that  promiscu-: 
ous.  Bud,"  he  begged.     "  You  might  hit  too  close  — ' 

"  Say,  Jerry !  Ever  hear  that  old  Armenian  proverb 
*  He  who  tells  the  truth  should  have  one  foot  in  th< 
stirrup  '  ?    I  learned  that  in  school." 

Jerry  let  go  Bud's  hand  and  took  the  bottle,  Bud'* 
watch  that  had  his  mother's  picture  pasted  in  the  back 
and  his  vest,  a  pocket  of  which  contained  a  memo- 
randum of  his  wagers.  Bud  was  stepping  out  of  hi; 
chaps,  and  he  looked  up  and  grinned.     "Cheer  up 


Sport  o'    Kings  129 

Jerry.  You  're  going  to  laugh  in  a  minute."  When 
Jerry  still  remained  thoughtful,  Bud  added  soberly, 
"I  appreciate  you  and  old  Pop  standing  by  me.  I 
don't  know  just  what  you  've  got  on  your  mind,  but 
the  fact  that  there  's  something  is  hint  enough  for  me/* 
Whereupon  Jerry's  eyes  lightened  a  little. 

The  four  horses  came  thundering  down  the  track, 
throwing  tiny  pebbles  high  into  the  air  as  they  passed. 
A  trim  little  sorrel  won,  and  there  was  the  usual  con- 
fusion of  voices  upraised  in  an  effort  to  be  heard. 
When  that  had  subsided,  interest  once  more  centered 
on  Skeeter  and  Smoky,  who  seemed  to  have  recovered 
somewhat  from  his  lameness. 

Not  a  man  save  Pop  and  Bud  had  placed  a  bet  on 
Smoky,  yet  every  man  there  seemed  keenly  interested 
in  the  race.  They  joshed  Bud,  who  grinned  and  took 
it  good-naturedly,  and  found  another  five  dollars  in 
his  pocket  to  bet  —  this  time  with  Pop,  who  kept  eye- 
ing him  sharply  —  and  it  seemed  to  Bud  warningly. 
But  Bud  wanted  to  play  his  own  game,  this  time,  and 
he  avoided  Pop's  eyes. 

The  two  men  rode  down  the  hoof -scored  sand  to  the 
quarter  post,  Skeeter  dancing  sidewise  at  the  prospect 
of  a  race.  Smoky  now  and  then  tentatively  against 
Bud's  steady  pressure  of  the  bit. 

"  He  's  not  limping  now,"  Bud  gloated  as  they  rode. 
But  Jeff  only  laughed  tolerantly  and  made  no  reply. 

Dave  Truman  started  them  with  a  pistol  shot,  and 
the  two  horses  darted  away.  Smoky  half  a  jump  in  the 
lead.  His  limp  was  forgotten,  and  for  half  the  dis- 
tance he  ran  neck  and  neck  with  Skeeter.  Then  he 
dropped  to  Skeeter's  middle,  to  his  flank  —  then  ran 
with  his  black  nose  even  with  Skeeter's  rump.     Even 


130  Cow-Country 

so  it  was  a  closer  race  than  the  crowd  had  expected,  and 
all  the  cowboys  began  to  yell  themselves  purple. 

But  when  they  were  yet  a  few  leaps  from  the  wire 
clothes-line  stretched  high,  from  post  to  post,  Bud 
leaned  forward,  until  he  lay  flat  alongside  Smoky's 
neck,  and  gave  a  real  Indian  war-whoop.  Smoky 
lifted  and  lengthened  his  stride,  came  up  again  to 
Skeeter's  middle,  to  his  shoulder,  to  his  ears  —  and 
with  the  next  leap  thrust  his  nose  past  Skeeter's,  as 
they  finished. 

Well,  then  there  was  the  usual  noise,  everyone  try- 
ing to  shout  louder  than  his  fellows.     Bud  rode  to 
where  Pop  was  sitting  apart  on  a  pacing  gray  horse  , 
that  he  always  rode,  and  paused  to  say  guardedly, 

**  I  pulled  him.  Pop.  But  at  that  I  won,  so  if  I  can 
pry  another  race  out  of  this  bunch  to-day,  you  can  bet 
all  you  like.  And  you  owe  me  five  dollars,"  he  added 
thriftily. 

**  Sho !  Shucks  a'mighty ! "  spluttered  Pop,  reach- 
ing reluctantly  into  his  pocket  for  the  money.  "  Jeff, 
he  done  some  pullin'  himself  —  I  wish  I  knowed,"  he 
added  pettishly,  "  just  how  big  a  fool  you  air." 

"  Hey,  come  over  here !  "  shouted  Jeff.  "  What 
yuh  nagging  ole  Pop  about  ?  "  j 

"  Pop  lost  five  dollars  on  that  race,"  Bud  called 
back,  and  loped  over  to  the  crowd.  "  But  he  is  n't  the 
only  one.  Seems  to  me  I  Ve  got  quite  a  bunch  of 
money  coming  to  me,  from  this  crowd !  " 

"Jeff,  he  'd  a  beat  him  a  mile  if  his  bridle  rein  had 
busted,"  an  arrogant  voice  shouted  recklessly.  "Jeff, 
you  old  fox,  you  know  damn  well  you  pulled  Skeeter. 
You  must  love  to  lose,  doggone  yuh." 

"If  you  think  I  did  n't  run  right,"  Jeff  retorted,  as 


sport   o'    Kings  131 

if  a  little  nettled,  "  someone  else  can  ride  the  horse. 
That  is,  if  the  kid  here  ain't  scared  off  with  your  talk. 
How  about  it,  Bud  ?    Think  you  won  fair  ?  " 

Bud  was  collecting  his  money,  and  he  did  not  im- 
mediately answer  the  challenge.  When  he  did  it  was 
to  offer  them  another  race.  He  would  not,  he  said, 
back  down  from  anyone.  He  would  bet  his  last  cent 
on  little  Smoky.  He  became  slightly  vociferative  and 
more  than  a  little  vain-glorious,  and  within  half  an 
hour  he  had  once  more  staked  all  the  money  he  had  in 
the  world.  The  number  of  men  who  wanted  to  bet 
with  him  surprised  him  a  little.  Also  the  fact  that  the 
Little  Lost  men  were  betting  on  Smoky. 

Honey  called  him  over  to  the  bank  and  scolded  him 
in  tones  much  like  her  name,  and  finally  gave  him  ten 
dollars  which  she  wanted  to  wager  on  his  winning. 
As  he  whirled  away,  Marian  beckoned  impulsively  and 
leaned  forward,  stretching  out  to  him  her  closed  hand. 

"  Here  *s  ten,"  she  smiled,  "  just  to  show  that  the 
Little  Lost  stands  by  its  men  —  and  horses.  Put  it  on 
Smoky,  please."  When  Bud  was  almost  out  of  easy 
hearing,  she  called  to  him.  "  Oh  —  was  that  a  five  or 
a  ten  dollar  bill  I  gave  you  ?  " 

Bud  turned  back,  unfolding  the  banknote.  A  very 
tightly  folded  scrap  of  paper  slid  into  his  palm. 

"  Oh,  all  right  —  I  have  the  five  here  in  my  pocket," 
called  Marian,  and  laughed  quite  convincingly.  "  Go 
on  and  run !  We  won*t  be  able  to  breathe  freely  until 
the  race  is  over." 

Wherefore  Bud  turned  back,  puzzled  and  with  his 
heart  jumping.  For  some  reason  Marian  had  taken 
this  means  of  getting  a  message  into  his  hands.  What 
it  could  be  he  did  not  conjecture;  but  he  had  a  vague, 


132  Cow-Country 


unreasoning  hope  that  she  trusted  him  and  was  asking 
him  to  help  her  somehow.  He  did  not  think  that  it 
concerned  the  race,  so  he  did  not  risk  opening  the  note 
then,  with  so  many  people  about. 

A  slim,  narrow-eyed  youth  of  about  Bud's  weight 
was  chosen  to  ride  Skeeter,  and  together  they  went 
back  over  the  course  to  the  quarter  post,  with  Dave 
to  start  them  and  two  or  three  others  to  make  sure 
that  the  race  was  fair.  Smoky  was  full  now  of  little 
prancing  steps,  and  held  his  neck  arched  while  his 
nostrils  flared  in  excitement,  showing  pink  within. 
Skeeter  persistently  danced  sidewise,  fighting  the  bit, 
crazy  to  run. 

Skeeter  made  two  false  starts,  and  when  the  pistol 
was  fired,  jumped  high  into  the  air  and  forward,  shak- 
ing his  head,  impatient  against  the  restraint  his  rider 
put  upon  him.  Halfway  down  the  stretch  he  lunged 
sidewise  toward  Smoky,  but  that  level-headed  little 
horse  swerved  and  went  on,  shoulder  to  shoulder  with 
the  other.  At  the  very  last  Skeeter  rolled  a  pebble 
under  his  foot  and  stumbled  —  and  again  Smoky  came 
in  with  his  slaty  nose  in  the  lead. 

Pop  rode  into  the  centre  of  the  yelling  crowd,  his 
whiskers  bristling.  "  Shucks  a'mighty !  "  he  cried. 
"What  fer  ridin'  do  yuh  call  that  there?  Jeff  Hall, 
that  feller  held  Skeeter  in  worse  'n  what  you  did  your- 
self !  I  kin  prove  it !  I  got  a  stop  watch,  an*  I  timed 
'im,  I  did.  An'  I  kin  tell  yuh  the  time  yore  horse 
made  when  he  run  agin  Dave's  Boise.  He  's  three 
seconds  —  yes,  by  Christmas,  he  's  four  seconds  slower 
t'day  'n  what  he 's  ever  run  before !  What  fer  sport 
d'  you  call  that  ?  "  His  voice  went  up  and  cracked  at  the 
question  mark  like  a  boy  in  his  early  teens. 


Sport   o'    Kings  133 


Jeff  stalked  forward  to  Skeeter's  side.  "  Jake,  did 
you  pull  Skeeter?  "  he  demanded  sternly.  "  I  '11  swan 
if  this  ain't  the  belly-achinest  bunch  I  ever  seen !  How 
about  it,  Jake?  Did  Skeeter  do  his  durndest,  or  did  n't 
he?" 

"  Shore,  he  did !  "  Jake  testified  warmly.  "  I  'd  a 
beat,  too,  if  he  hadn't  stumbled  right  at  the  last. 
Did  n't  yuh  see  him  purty  near  go  down  ?  And  was  n't 
he  within  six  inches  of  beatin'?  I  leave  it  to  the 
crowd ! " 

The  crowd  was  full  of  argument,  and  some  bets 
were  paid  under  protest.  But  they  were  paid,  just  the 
same.  Burroback  Valley  insisted  that  the  main  points 
of  racing  law  should  be  obeyed  to  the  letter.  Bud  col- 
lected his  winnings,  the  Scotch  in  him  overlooking 
nothing  whatever  in  the  shape  of  a  dollar.  Then,  un- 
der cover  of  getting  his  smoking  material,  he  dared 
bring  out  Marian's  note.  There  were  two  lines  in  a 
fine,  even  hand  on  a  cigarette  paper,  and  Bud,  relieved 
at  her  cleverness,  unfolded  the  paper  and  read  while 
he  opened  his  bag  of  tobacco.  The  lines  were  like 
those  in  an  old-fashioned  copy  book : 

"  Winners  may  be  losers. 
Empty  pockets,  safe  owner." 

And  that  was  all.  Bud  sifted  tobacco  into  the  paper, 
rolled  it  into  a  cigarette  and  smoked  it  to  so  short  a 
stub  that  he  burnt  his  lips.  Then  he  dropped  it  beside 
his  foot  and  ground  it  into  the  sand  while  he  talked. 

He  would  run  Smoky  no  more  that  day,  he  declared, 
but  next  Sunday  he  would  give  them  all  a  chance  to 
settle  their  minds  and  win  back  their  losings,  provid- 
ing his  horse's  ankle  did  n't  go  bad  again  with  to-day's 


134  Cow-Country 


running.  Pop,  Dave,  Jeff  and  a  few  other  wise  ones 
examined  the  weak  ankle  and  disagreed  over  the  exact 
cause  and  nature  of  the  weakness.  It  seemed  all  right. 
Smoky  did  not  flinch  from  rubbing,  though  he  did 
lift  his  foot  away  from  strange  hands.  They  ques- 
tioned Bud,  who  could  offer  no  positive  information 
on  the  subject,  except  that  once  he  and  Smoky  had 
rolled  down  a  bluff  together,  and  Smoky  had  been 
lame  for  a  while  afterwards. 

It  did  not  occur  to  anyone  to  ask  Bud  which  leg 
had  been  lamed,  and  Bud  did  not  volunteer  the  detail. 
An  old  sprain,  they  finally  decided,  and  Bud  replaced 
his  saddle,  got  his  chaps  and  coat  from  Jerry,  who  was 
smiling  over  an  extra  twenty-five  dollars,  and  rode 
over  to  give  the  girls  their  winnings. 

He  stayed  for  several  minutes  talking  with  them 
and  hoping  for  a  chance  to  thank  Marian  for  her 
friendly  warning.  But  there  was  none,  and  he  rode 
away  dissatisfied  and  wondering  uneasily  if  Marian 
thought  he  was  really  as  friendly  with  Honey  as  that 
young  lady  made  him  appear  to  be. 

He  was  one  of  the  first  to  ride  back  to  the  ranch, 
and  he  turned  Smoky  in  the  pasture  and  caught  up  Stop- 
per to  ride  with  Honey,  who  said  she  was  going  for  a 
ride  when  the  races  were  over,  and  that  if  he  liked  to 
go  along  she  would  show  him  the  Sinks.  Bud  had 
professed  an  eagerness  to  see  the  Sinks  which  he  did 
not  feel  until  Marian  had  turned  her  head  toward 
Honey  and  said  in  her  quiet  voice: 

"  Why  the  Sinks  ?  You  know  that  is  n't  safe  coun- 
try to  ride  in.  Honey."  I 

"That's  why  I  want  to  ride  there,"  Honey  re- 
torted flippantly.    "  I  hate  safe  places  and  safe  things." 


Sport   o'    Kings  135 

Marian  had  glanced  at  Bud  —  and  it  was  that  glance 
which  he  was  remembering  now  with  a  puzzled  sense 
that,  like  the  note,  it  had  meant  something  definite, 
something  vital  to  his  own  welfare  if  he  could  only 
find  the  key.  First  it  was  Hen,  then  Jerry,  and  now 
Marian,  all  warning  him  vaguely  of  danger  into  which 
he  might  stumble  if  he  were  not  careful. 

Bud  was  no  fool,  but  on  the  other  hand  he  was  not 
one  to  stampede  easily.  He  had  that  steadfast  cour- 
age, perhaps,  which  could  face  danger  and  still  main- 
tain his  natural  calm — just  as  his  mother  had  cor- 
rected grammatical  slips  in  the  very  sentences  which 
told  her  of  an  impending  outbreak  of  Indians  long  ago. 

Bud  saddled  Stopper  and  the  horse  which  Honey  was 
to  ride,  led  them  to  the  house  and  went  inside  to  wait 
until  the  girl  was  ready.  While  he  waited  he  played 
—  and  hoped  that  Marian,  hearing,  would  know  that 
he  played  for  her;  and  that  she  would  come  and  ex- 
plain the  cryptic  message.  Whether  Marian  heard  and 
appreciated  the  music  or  not,  she  failed  to  appear  and 
let  him  know.  It  seemed  to  him  that  she  might  easily 
have  come  into  the  room  for  a  minute  when  she  knew 
he  was  there,  and  let  him  have  a  chance  to  thank  her 
and  ask  her  just  what  she  meant. 

He  was  just  finishing  the  Ave  Maria  which  Marian 
had  likened  to  a  breath  of  cool  air,  when  Honey  ap- 
peared in  riding  skirt  and  light  shirtwaist.  She  looked 
very  trim  and  attractive,  and  Bud  smiled  upon  her 
approvingly,  and  cut  short  the  last  strain  by  four 
beats,  which  was  one  way  of  letting  Marian  know  that 
he  considered  her  rather  unappreciative. 


CHAPTER   THIRTEEN 
The  Sinks 

"  We  can  go  through  the  pasture  and  cut  off  a 
couple  of  miles,"  said  Honey  when  they  were  mounted. 
**  I  hope  you  don't  think  I  'm  crazy,  wanting  a  ride  at 
this  time  of  day,  after  all  the  excitement  we  Ve  had. 
But  every  Sunday  is  taken  up  with  horse-racing  till 
late  in  the  afternoon,  and  during  the  week  no  one  has 
time  to  go.  And,"  she  added  with  a  sidelong  look  at 
him,  "  there  's  something  about  the  Sinks  that  makes 
me  love  to  go  there.  Uncle  Dave  won't  let  me  go 
alone." 

Bud  dismounted  to  pull  down  the  two  top  bars  of 
the  pasture  gate  so  that  their  horses  could  step  over. 
A  little  way  down  the  grassy  slope  Smoky  and  Sun- 
fish  fed  together,  the  Little  Lost  horses  grouped  nearer 
the  creek.  ^ 

"  I  love  that  little  horse  of  yours  — why,  he  's  gone 
lame  again !  "  exclaimed  Honey.  "  Is  n't  that  a  shame  1 
You  ought  n't  to  run  him  if  it  does  that  to  him." 

"  He  likes  it,"  said  Bud  carelessly  as  he  remounted. 
"  And  so  do  I,  when  I  can  clean  up  the  way  I  did  to- 
day. I  'm  over  three  hundred  dollars  richer. right  now 
than  I  was  this  morning." 

"  And  next  Sunday,  maybe  you  *11  be  broke,"  Honey 


The   Sinks  137 


added  significantly.  "  You  never  know  how  you  are 
coming  out.  I  think  Jeff  let  you  win  to-day  on  pur- 
pose, so  you  'd  bet  it  all  again  and  lose.  He  's  like 
that.  He  don't  care  how  much  he  loses  one  day,  be- 
cause he  gets  it  back  some  other  time.  I  don't  like  it. 
Some  of  the  boys  never  do  get  ahead,  and  you  '11  be  in 
the  same  fix  if  you  don't  look  out.'* 

"  You  did  n't  bring  me  along  to  lecture  me,  I  know," 
said  Bud  with  a  good-natured  smile.  "  What  about 
the  Sinks  ?  Is  it  a  dangerous  place  as  —  Mrs.  Morris 
says  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Marian  ?  She  never  does  want  me  to  come. 
She  thinks  I  ought  to  stay  in  the  house  always,  the 
way  she  does.  The  Sinks  is  —  is  —  queer.  There 
are  caves,  and  then  again  deep  holes  straight  down, 
and  tracks  of  wildcats  and  lions.  And  in  some 
places  you  can  hear  gurgles  and  rumbles.  I  love  to  be 
there  just  at  sundown,  because  the  shadows  are 
spooky  and  it  makes  you  feel  —  oh,  you  know  —  kind 
of  creepy  up  your  back.  You  don't  know  what  might 
happen.  I  —  do  you  believe  in  ghosts  and  haunted 
places,  Bud?" 

"  I  'd  need  a  lot  of  scaring  before  I  did.  Are  the 
Sinks  haunted  ?  " 

"  No-o  —  but  there  are  funny  noises  and  people 
have  got  lost  there.  Anyway  they  never  showed  up 
afterwards.  The  Indians  claim  it 's  haunted."  She 
smiled  that  baffling  smile  of  hers.  "  Do  you  want  to 
turn  around  and  go  back  ?  " 

"  Sure.  After  we  've  had  our  ride,  and  seen  the 
sights."  And  he  added  with  some  satisfaction,  "  The 
moon  's  full  to-night,  and  no  clouds." 

"  And  I  brought  sandwiches,"  Honey  threw  in  as 


138  Cow-Country 

an  especial  blessing.  "  Uncle  Dave  will  be  mad,  I  ex- 
pect. But  I  've  never  seen  the  Sinks  at  night,  with 
moonlight." 

She  was  quiet  while  the  horses  waded  Sunk  Creek 
and  picked  their  way  carefully  over  a  particularly 
rocky  stretch  beyond.  "  But  what  I  'd  rather  do," 
she  said,  speaking  from  her  thoughts  which  had  evi- 
dently carried  forward  in  the  silence,  "  is  explore  Cat- 
rock  Canyon." 

"  Well,  why  not,  if  we  have  time?  "  Bud  rode  up 
alongside  her.    "  Is  it  far?  " 

Honey  looked  at  him  searchingly.  "  You  miist  be 
a  stranger  to  these  parts,"  she  said  disbelievingly. 
"  Do  you  think  you  can  make  me  swallow  that?  " 

Bud  looked  at  her  inquiringly,  which  forced  her  to 
go  on. 

"You  must  know  about  Catrock  Canyon,  Bud 
Bimie.     Don't  try  to  make  me  believe  you  don't." 

"  I  don't.  I  never  heard  of  it  before  that  I  remem- 
ber.    What  is  it  makes  you  want  to  explore  it?" 

Honey  studied  him.  "  You  're  the  queerest  speci- 
men I  ever  did  see,"  she  exclaimed  pettishly.  "  Why, 
it 's  not  going  to  hurt  you  to  admit  you  know  Catrock 
Canyon  is  —  unexplorable." 

"  Oh.  So  you  want  to  explore  it  because  it 's  un- 
explorable.    Well,  why  is  it  unexplorable?  " 

Honey  looked  around  her  at  the  dry  sageland  they 
were  crossing.  "  Oh,  you  make  me  tired! "  she  said 
bluntly,  with  something  of  the  range  roughness  in  her 
voice.    "  Because  it  is,  that 's  all." 

"  Then  I  'd  like  to  explpre  it  myself,"  Bud  declared. 

"  For  one  thing,"  Honey  dilated,  "  there  's  no  way 
to  get  in  there.    Up  on  the  ridge  this  side,  where  the 


The   Sinks  139 

rock  IS  that  throws  a  shadow  like  a  cat*s  head  on  the 
opposite  wall,  you  can  look  down  a  ways.  But  the  two 
sides  come  so  close  together  at  the  top  that  you  can't 
see  the  bottom  of  the  canyon  at  all.  I  've  been  on  the 
ridge  where  I  could  see  the  cat's  head." 

Bud  glanced  speculatively  up  at  the  sun,  and  Honey, 
catching  his  meaning,  shook  her  head  and  smiled. 

"  If  we  get  into  the  Sinks  and  back  to-day,  they 
will  do  enough  talking  about  it;  or  Uncle  Dave  will, 
and  Marian.  I  —  I  thought  perhaps  you  'd  be  able  to 
tell  me  about  —  Catrock  Canyon." 

"  I  *m  able  to  say  I  don't  know  a  thing  about  it. 
If  no  one  can  get  into  it,  I  should  think  that 's  about 
all,  isn't  it?" 

"  Yes  —  you  'd  think  so,"  Honey  agreed  enigmati- 
cally, and  began  to  talk  of  the  racing  that  day,  and  of 
the  dance,  and  of  other  dances  and  other  races  yet  to 
come.  Bud  discussed  these  subjects  for  a  while  and 
then  asked  boldly,  "  When 's  Lew  coming  back?" 

"Lew?"  Honey  shot  a  swift  glance  at  him. 
"Why  — "  She  looked  ahead  at  the  forbidding, 
craggy  hills  toward  which  she  had  glanced  when  she 
spoke  of  Catrock.  "Why,  I  don't  know.  How 
should  I?" 

Bud  saw  that  he  had  spoken  unwisely.  "  I  was 
thinking  he  'd  maybe  hate  to  miss  another  running 
match  like  to-day,"  he  explained  guilelessly.  "  Every- 
body and  his  dog  seemed  to  be  there  to-day,  and  every- 
body had  money  up.  All,"  he  modified,  "  except  the 
Muleshoe  boys.     I  did  n't  see  any  of  them." 

"  You  won't,"  Honey  told  him  with  some  emphasis. 
"  Uncle  Dave  and  the  Muleshoe  are  on  the  outs.  They 
never  come  around  except  for  mail  and  things  from 


140  Cow-Country 

the  store.  And  most  always  they  send  Hen.  Uncle 
Dave  and  Dirk  Tracy  had  an  awful  row  last  winter. 
It  was  next  thing  to  a  killing.  So  of  course  the  outfit-s 
ain't  on  friendly  terms." 

This  was  more  than  Pop  had  gossiped  to  Bud,  and 
since  the  whole  thing  was  of  no  concern  to  him,  and 
Honey  plainly  objected  to  talking  about  Marian's  hus- 
band, he  was  quite  ready  to  fix  his  interest  once  more 
upon  the  Sinks.  He  was  surprised  when  they  emerged 
from  a  cluster  of  small,  sage-covered  knolls,  directly 
upon  the  edge  of  what  at  first  sight  seemed  to  be 
another  dry  river  bed  —  sprawled  wider,  perhaps, 
with  irregular  arms  thrust  back  into  the  less  sterile 
land.  They  rode  down  a  steep,  rocky  trail  and  came 
out  into  the  Sinks. 

It  was  an  odd,  forbidding  place,  and  the  farther  up 
the  gravelly  bottom  they  rode,  the  more  forbidding  it 
became.  Bud  thought  that  in  the  time  when  Indians 
were  dangerous  as  she-bears  the  Sinks  would  not  be  a 
place  where  a  man  would  want  to  ride.  There  were 
too  many  jutting  crags,  too  many  unsuspected,  black 
holes  that  led  back  —  no  one  knew  just  where. 

Honey  led  the  way  to  an  irregular  circle  of  water- 
washed  cobbles  and  Bud  peered  down  fifty  feet  to 
another  dry,  gravelly  bottom  seemingly  a  duplicate  of 
the  upper  surface.  She  rode  on  past  other  caves,  and 
let  him  look  down  into  other  holes.  There  were  faint 
rumblings  in  some  of  these,  but  in  none  was  there  any 
water  showing  save  in  stagnant  pools  in  the  rock  where 
the  rain  had  fallen. 

"  There  's  one  cave  I  like  to  go  into,"  said  Honey  at 
last.  "It's  a  little  farther  on,  but  we  have  time 
enough.    There 's  a  spring  inside,  and  we  can  eat  our 


The   Sinks  141 

sandwiches.  It  is  n't  dark  —  there  are  openings  to 
the  top,  and  lots  of  funny,  winding  passages.  That/' 
she  finished  thrillingly,  "  is  the  place  the  Indians  claim 
is  haunted." 

Bud  did  not  shudder  convincingly,  and  they  rode 
slowly  forward,  picking  their  way  among  the  rocks. 
The  cave  yawned  wide  open  to  the  sun,  which  hung 
on  the  top  of  Catrock  Peak.  They  dismounted,  an- 
chored the  reins  with  rocks  and  went  inside. 

When  Bud  had  been  investigative  Buddy,  he  had 
explored  more  caves  than  he  could  count.  He  had 
filched  candles  from  his  mother  and  had  crept  back 
and  back  until  the  candle  flame  flickered  warning  that 
he  was  nearing  the  "  damps."  Indians  always  did 
believe  caves  were  haunted,  probably  because  they  did 
not  understand  the  "  damps  ",  and  thought  evil  spirits 
had  taken  those  who  went  in  and  never  returned. 
Buddy  had  once  been  lost  in  a  cave  for  four  harrowing" 
hours,  and  had  found  his  way  out  by  sheer  luck,  pass- 
ing the  skeleton  of  an  Indian  and  taking  the  tomahawk 
as  a  souvenir. 

Wherefore  this  particular  cave,  with  a  spring  back 
fifty  feet  from  the  entrance  where  a  shaft  of  sunlight 
struck  the  rock  through  some  obscure  slit  in  the  rock, 
had  no  thrill  for  him.  But  the  floor  was  of  fine,  white 
sand,  and  the  ceiling  was  knobby  and  grotesque,  and 
he  was  quite  willing  to  sit  there  beside  the  spring  and 
eat  two  sandwiches  and  talk  foolishness  with  Honey, 
using  that  part  of  his  mind  which  was  not  busy  with 
the  complexities  of  winning  money  on  the  speed  of 
his  horses  when  three  horses  represented  his  entire 
business  capital,  and  with  wondering  what  was  wrong^ 
with  Burroback  Valley,  that  three  persons  of  widely 


142  Cow-Country 

different  viewpoints  had  felt  it  necessary  to  caution 
him,  —  and  had  couched  their  admonitions  in  such 
general  terms  that  he  could  not  feel  the  force  of  their 
warning. 

He  was  thinking  back  along  his  life  to  where  false 
alarms  of  Indian  outbreaks  had  played  a  very  large 
part  in  the  Tomahawk's  affairs,  and  how  little  of  the 
ranch  work  would  ever  have  been  done  had  they  lis- 
tened to  every  calamity  howler  that  came  along.  Honey 
was  talking,  and  he  was  answering  partly  at  random, 
when  she  suddenly  laughed  and  got  up. 

"  You  must  be  in  love.  Bud  Birnie.  You  just  said 
*  yes '  when  I  asked  you  if  you  did  n't  think  water 
snakes  would  be  coming  out  this  fall  with  their  stripes 
running  round  them  instead  of  lengthwise!  You 
did  n't  hear  a  word  —  now,  did  you  ?  " 

"  I  heard  music,"  Bud  lied  gallantly,  "  and  I  knew 
it  was  your  voice.  I  'd  probably  say  yes  if  you  asked 
me  whether  the  moon  would  n't  look  better  with  a 
ruffle  around  it." 

"  I  '11  say  the  moon  will  be  wondering  where  we  are, 
if  we  don't  start  back.    The  sun  's  down." 

Bud  got  up  from  sitting  cross-legged  like  a  Turk, 
helped  Honey  to  her  feet  —  and  felt  her  fingers  cling- 
ing warmly  to  his  own.  He  led  the  way  to  the  cave's 
mouth,  not  looking  at  her.  "  Great  sunset,"  he  ob- 
served carelessly,  glancing  up  at  the  ridge  while  he 
held  her  horse  for  her  to  mount. 

Honey  showed  that  she  was  perfectly  at  home  in 
the  saddle.  She  rode  on  ahead,  leaving  Bud  to  mount 
and  follow.  He  was  just  swinging  leisurely  into  the 
saddle  when  Stopper  threw  his  head  around,  glancing 
back  toward  the  level  just  beyond  the  cave.     At  the. 


The  Sinks  143 

same  instant  Bud  heard  the  familiar,  unmistakable 
swish  of  a  rope  headed  his  way. 

He  flattened  himself  along  Stopper's  left  shoulder 
as  the  loop  settled  and  tightened  on  the  saddle  horn, 
and  dropped  on  to  the  ground  as  Stopper  whirled 
automatically  to  the  right  and  braced  himself  against 
the  strain.  Bud  turned  half  kneeling,  his  gun  in  his 
hand  ready  for  the  shot  he  expected  would  follow  the 
rope.  But  Stopper  was  in  action  —  the  best  rope- 
horse  the  Tomahawk  had  ever  owned.  For  a  few 
seconds  he  stood  braced,  his  neck  arched,  his  eyes 
bright  and  watchful.  Then  he  leaped  forward,  straight 
3ft  the  horse  and  the  rider  who  was  in  the  act  of  level- 
ing his  gun.  The  horse  hesitated,  taken  unaware  by 
the  onslaught.  When  he  started  to  run  Stopper  was 
already  passing  him,  turning  sharply  to  the  right  again 
so  that  the  rope  raked  the  horse's  front  legs.  Two 
jumps  and  Stopper  had  stopped,  faced  the  horse  and 
stood  braced  again,  his  ears  perked  knowingly  while 
he  waited  for  the  flop. 

It  came  —  just  as  it  always  did  come  when  Stopper 
got  action  on  the  end  of  a  rope.  Horse  and  rider 
came  down  together.  They  would  not  get  up  until 
Bud  wished  it  —  he  could  trust  Stopper  for  that  —  so 
Bud  walked  over  to  the  heap,  his  gun  ready  for  action 
—  and  that,  too,  could  be  trusted  to  perform  with  what 
speed  and  precision  was  necessary.  There  would  be 
no  hasty  shooting,  however;  Buddy  had  learned  to 
save  his  bullets  for  real  need  when  ammunition  was  not 
to  be  had  for  the  asking,  and  grown-up  Bud  had  never 
outgrown  the  habit. 

He  picked  up  the  fellow's  six-shooter  which  he  had 
dropped  when  he  fell,  and  stood  sizing  up  the  situation. 


144  Cow-Country 

By  the  neckerchief  drawn  across  his  face  it  was  a 
straight  case  of  holdup.  Bud  stooped  and  yanked  off 
the  mask  and  looked  into  the  glaring  eyes  of  one  whom 
he  had  never  before  seen. 

"Well,  how  d' yuh  like  it,  far  as  you  Ve  got?" 
Bud  asked  curiously.  "  Think  you  were  holding  up  a 
pilgrim,  or  what?  '' 

Just  then,  ping-gg  sang  a  rifle  bullet  from  the  ridge 
above  the  cave.  Bud  looked  that  way  and  spied  a  man 
standing  half  revealed  against  the  rosy  clouds  that 
were  already  dulling  as  dusk  crept  up  from  the  low 
ground.  It  was  a  long  shot  for  a  six-shooter,  but 
Buddy  used  to  shoot  antelope  almost  that  far,  so  Bud 
lifted  his  arm  and  straightened  it,  just  as  if  he  were 
pointing  a  finger  at  the  man,  and  fired.  He  had  the 
satisfaction  of  seeing  the  figure  jerk  backward  and 
go  off  over  the  ridge  in  a  stooping  kind  of  run. 

"  He  'd  better  hurry  back  if  he  wants  another  shot 
at  me,"  Bud  grinned.  "  It  '11  be  so  dark  down  here  in 
a  minute  he  could  n't  pick  me  up  with  his  front  sight 
if  I  was  —  as  big  a  fool  as  you  are.  How  about  it? 
I  '11  just  lead  you  into  camp,  I  think  —  but  you  sure 
as  hell  could  n't  get  a  job  roping  gateposts,  on  the 
strength  of  this  little  exhibition." 

He  went  over  to  Stopper  and  untied  his  own  rope, 
giving  an  approving  pat  to  that  business-like  animal. 
"  Hope  your  leg  is  n't  broken  or  anything,"  he  said 
to  the  man  when  he  returned  and  passed  the  loop  over 
the  fellow's  head  and  shoulders,  drawing  it  rather 
snugly  around  his  body  and  pinning  his  arms  at  the 
elbows.  "  It  would  be  kind  of  unpleasant  if  they  hap- 
pen to  take  a  notion  to  make  you  walk  all  the  way  to 
jail." 


The  Sinks  145 

He  beckoned  Stopper,  who  immediately  moved  up, 
slackening  the  rope.  The  thrown  horse  drew  up  his 
knees,  gave  a  preliminary  heave  and  scrambled  to  his 
feet,  Bud  taking  care  that  the  man  was  pulled  free  and 
safe.  The  fellow  stood  up  sulkily  defiant,  unable  to 
rest  much  of  his  weight  on  his  left  leg. 

Bud  had  ten  busy  minutes,  and  it  was  not  until  they 
were  both  mounted  and  headed  for  Little  Lost,  the 
captive  with  his  arms  tied  behind  him,  his  feet  tied  to- 
gether under  the  horse,  which  Bud  led,  that  Bud  had 
time  to  wonder  what  it  was  all  about.  Then  he  began 
to  look  for  Honey,  who  had  disappeared.  But  in  the 
softened  light  of  the  rising  moon  mingling  with  the 
afterglow  of  sunset,  he  saw  the  deep  imprints  of  her 
horse's  hoofs  where  he  had  galloped  homeward.  Bud 
did  not  think  she  ran  away  because  she  was  frightened ; 
she  had  seemed  too  sure  of  herself  for  that.  She  had 
probably  gone  for  help. 

A  swift  suspicion  that  the  attack  might  have  been 
made  from  jealousy  died  when  Bud  looked  again  at 
his  prisoner.  The  man  was  swarthy,  low  of  brow  — 
part  Indian,  by  the  look  of  him.  Honey  would  never 
give  the  fellow  a  second  thought.  So  that  brought  him 
to  the  supposition  that  robbery  had  been  intended,  and 
the  inference  was  made  more  logical  when  Bud  remem- 
bered that  Marian  had  warned  him  against  something 
of  the  sort.  Probably  he  and  Honey  had  been  fol- 
lowed into  the  Sinks,  and  even  though  Bud  had  not 
seen  this  man  at  the  races,  his  partner  up  on  the  ridge 
might  have  been  there.  It  was  all  very  simple,  and 
Bud,  having  arrived  at  the  obvious  conclusion,  touched 
Stopper  into  a  lope  and  arrived  at  Little  Lost  just  as 
Dave  Truman  and  three  of  his  men  were  riding  down 


146  Cow-Country 

into  Sunk  Creek  ford  on  their  way  to  the  Sinks.  They 
pulled  up,  staring  hard  at  Dave  and  his  captive.  Dave 
spoke  first. 

"  Honey  said  you  was  waylaid  and  robbed  or  killed 
—  both,  we  took  it,  from  her  account.  How  'd  yuh 
come  to  get  the  best  of  it  so  quick?  " 

"  Why,  his  horse  got  tangled  up  in  the  rope  and 
fell  down,  and  I  fell  on  top  of  him,"  Bud  explained 
cheerfully.  '*  I  was  bringing  him  in.  He  's  a  bad  citi- 
zen, I  should  judge,  but  he  did  n't  do  me  any  damage, 
as  it  turned  out,  so  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  him. 
I  '11  just  turn  him  over  to  you,  I  think." 

"  Hell !  /  don't  want  him,"  Dave  protested.  I  '11 
pass  him  along  to  the  sheriff  —  he  may  know  some- 
thing about  him.  Nelse  and  Charlie,  you  take  and  run 
him  in  to  Crater  and  turn  him  over  to  Kline.  You 
tell  Kline  what  he  done  —  or  tried  to  do.  Was  he 
alone.  Bud?"  | 

"  He  had  a  partner  up  on  the  ridge,  so  far  off  I' 
could  n't  swear  to  him  if  I  saw  him  face  to  face.     I 
took  a  shot  at  him,  and  I  think  I  nicked  him.     He 
ducked,  and  there  were  n't  any  more  rifle  bullets  com- 
ing my  way." 

"  You  nicked  him  with  your  six-shooter  ?  And  him 
so  far  off  you  could  n't  recognize  him  again?  "  Dave 
looked  at  Bud  sharply.  "  That 's  purty  good  shootin', 
strikes  me." 

"  Well,  he  stood  up  against  the  sky-line,  and  he 
was  n't  more  than  seventy-five  yards,"  Bud  explained. 
**  I  've  dropped  antelope  that  far,  plenty  of  times.  The 
light  was  bad,  this  evening." 

"Antelope,"  Dave  repeated  meditatively,  and 
winked  at  his  men.     "  All  right.  Bud  —  we  '11  let  it 


The  Sinks  147 

stand  at  antelope.  Boys,  you  hit  for  Crater  with  this 
fellow.  You  ought  to  make  it  there  and  back  by  to- 
morrow noon,  all  right." 

Nelse  took  the  lead  rope  from  Bud  and  the  two 
started  off  up  the  creek,  meaning  to  strike  the  road 
from  Little  Lost  to  Crater,  the  county  seat  beyond 
Gold  Gap  mountains.  Bud  rode  on  to  the  ranch  with 
his  boss,  and  tried  to  answer  Dave's  questions  satis- 
factorily without  relating  his  own  prowess  or  divulg- 
ing too  much  of  Stopper's  skill;  which  was  something 
of  a  problem  for  his  wits. 

Honey  ran  out  to  meet  him  and  had  to  be  assured 
over  and  over  that  he  was  not  hurt,  and  that  he  had 
lost  nothing  but  his  temper  and  the  ride  home  with  her 
in  the  moonlight.  She  was  plainly  upset  and  anxious 
that  he  should  not  think  her  cowardly,  to  leave  him 
that  way. 

"  I  looked  back  and  saw  a  man  throwing  his  rope, 
and  you  —  it  looked  as  if  he  had  dragged  you  off  the 
horse.  I  was  sure  I  saw  you  falling.  So  I  ran  my 
horse  all  the  way  home,  to  get  Uncle  Dave  and  the 
boys,"  she  told  him  tremulously.  And  then  she  added, 
with  her  tantalizing  half  smile,  "  I  believe  that  horse 
of  mine  could  beat  Smoky  or  Skeeter,  if  I  was  scared 
that  bad  at  the  beginning  of  a  race." 

Bud,  in  sheer  gratitude  for  her  anxiety  over  him, 
patted  Honey's  hand  and  told  her  she  must  have  broken 
the  record,  all  right,  and  that  she  had  done  exactly  the 
right  thing.  And  Honey  went  to  bed  happy  that 
night. 


CHAPTER   FOURTEEN 
Even  Mushrooms  Help 

Bud  wanted  to  have  a  little  confidential  talk  withi 
Marian.  He  hoped  that  she  would  be  willing  to  tell 
him  a  great  deal  more  than  could  be  written  on  one 
side  of  a  cigarette  paper,  and  he  was  curious  to  hear 
what  it  was.  On  the  other  hand,  he  wanted  somehow 
to  let  her  know  that  he  was  anxious  to  help  her  in  any/ 
way  possible.    She  needed  help,  of  that  he  was  sure. 

Lew  returned  on  Tuesday,  with  a  vile  temper  and 
rheumatism  in  his  left  shoulder  so  that  he  could  not' 
work,  but  stayed  around  the  house  and  too  evidently 
made  his  wife  miserable  by  his  presence.  On  Wednes- 
day morning  Marian  had  her  hair  dressed  so  low 
over  her  ears  that  she  resembled  a  lady  of  old  Colonial 
days  —  but  she  did  not  quite  conceal  from  Bud's  keen 
eyes  the  ugly  bruise  on  her  temple.  She  was  pale  and 
her  lips  were  compressed  as  if  she  were  afraid  to  relax 
lest  she  burst  out  in  tears  or  in  a  violent  denunciation 
of  some  kind.  Bud  dared  not  look  at  her,  nor  at  Lew, 
who  sat  glowering  at  Bud's  right  hand.  He  tried  to 
eat,  tried  to  swallow  his  coffee,  and  finally  gave  up  the 
attempt  and  left  the  table. 

In  getting  up  he  touched  Lew's  shoulder  with  his 
elbow,  and  Lew  let  out  a  bellow  of  pain  and  an  oath, 
and  leaned  away  from  him,  his  right  hand  up  to  ward 
off  another  hurt. 


Even   Mushrooms   Help      149 

"  Pardon  me.  I  forgot  your  rheumatism/*  Bud 
apologized  perfunctorily,  his  face  going  red  at  the 
epithet.  Marian,  coming  toward  him  with  a  plate  of 
biscuits,  looked  him  full  in  the  eyes  and  turned  her 
glance  to  her  husband's  back  while  her  lips  curled  in 
the  bitterest,  the  most  scornful  smile  Bud  had  ever 
seen  on  a  woman's  face.  She  did  not  speak  —  speech 
was  impossible  before  that  tableful  of  men  —  but  Bud 
went  out  feeling  as  though  she  had  told  him  that  her 
contempt  for  Lew  was  beyond  words,  and  that  his 
rheumatism  brought  no  pity  whatever. 

Wednesday  passed,  Thursday  came,  and  still  there 
was  no  chance  to  speak  a  word  in  private.  The  kitchen 
drudge  was  hedged  about  by  open  ears  and  curious 
eyes,  and  save  at  meal-time  she  was  invisible  to  the 
men  unless  they  glimpsed  her  for  a  moment  in  the 
kitchen  door. 

I  Thursday  brought  a  thunder  storm  with  plenty  of 
rain,  and  in  the  drizzle  that  held  over  until  Friday 
noon  Bud  went  out  to  an  old  calf  shed  which  he  had 

!  discovered  in  the  edge  of  the  pasture,  and  gathered 

i  his  neckerchief  full  of  mushrooms.  Bud  hated  mush- 
rooms, but  he  carried  them  to  the  machine  shed  and 

I  waited  until  he  was  sure  that  Honey  was  in  the  sitting 
room  playing  the  piano  —  and  hitting  what  Bud  called 
a  blue  note  now  and  then  —  and  that  Lew  was  in  the 
bunk-house  with  the  other  men,  and  Dave  and  old  Pop 
were  in  Pop's  shack.  Then,  and  then  only.  Bud  took 
long  steps  to  the  kitchen  door,  carr^nng  his  mush- 
rooms as  tenderly  as  though  they  were  eggs  for  hatch- 
ing. 

Marian  was  up  to  her  dimpled  elbows  in  bread 
dough  when  he  went  in.    Honey  was  still  groping  her 


150  Cow-Country 

way  lumpily  through  the  Blue  Danube  Waltz,  and 
Bud  stood  so  that  he  could  look  out  through  the  white- 
curtained  window  over  the  kitchen  table  and  make  sure 
that  no  one  approached  the  house  unseen. 

"  Here  are  some  mushrooms,"  he  said  guardedly, 
lest  his  voice  should  carry  to  Honey.  "  They  're  just 
an  excuse.  Far  as  I  'm  concerned  you  can  feed  them 
to  the  hogs.  I  like  things  clean  and  natural  and 
wholesome,  myself.  I  came  to  find  out  what's  the 
matter,  Mrs.  Morris.  Is  there  anything  I  can  do?  I 
took  the  hint  you  gave  me  in  the  note,  Sunday,  and  I 
discovered  right  away  you  knew  what  you  were  talk- 
ing about.  That  was  a  holdup  down  in  the  Sinks.  It 
could  n't  have  been  anything  else.  But  they  would  n't 
have  got  anything.  I  did  n't  have  more  than  a  dollar 
in  my  pocket." 

Marian  turned  her  head,  and  listened  to  the  piano, 
and  glanced  up  at  him. 

"  I  also  like  things  clean  and  natural  and  whole- 
some," she  said  quietly.  "  That 's  why  I  tried  to  put 
you  on  your  guard.  You  don't  seem  to  fit  in,  some- 
how, with  —  the  surroundings.  I  happen  to  know 
that  the  races  held  here  every  Sunday  are  just  thinly 
veiled  attempts  to  cheat  the  unwary  out  of  every  cent 
they  have.  I  should  advise  you,  Mr.  Birnie,  to  be 
very  careful  how  you  bet  on  any  horses." 

"  I  shall,"  Bud  smiled.  "  Pop  gave  me  some  good 
advice,  too,  about  running  horses.  He  says,  '  It 's 
every  fellow  for  himself,  and  mercy  toward  none.' 
I  'm  playing  by  their  rule,  and  Pop  expects  to  make  a 
few  dollars,  too.     He  said  he  'd  stand  by  me." 

"  Oh !  He  did  ?  "  Marian's  voice  puzzled  Bud.  She 
kneaded  the  bread  vigorously  for  a  minute.     '*  Don't 


Even   Mushrooms   Help      151 

depend  too  much  on  Pop.  He's  —  variable.  And 
don't  go  around  with  a  dollar  in  your  pocket  —  unless 
you  don't  mind  losing  that  dollar.  There  are  men  in 
this  country  who  would  willingly  dispense  with  the 
formality  of  racing  a  horse  in  order  to  get  your 
money." 

"  Yes  —  I  've  discovered  one  informal  method  al- 
ready.   I  wish  I  knew  how  I  could  help  you." 

"  Help  me  —  in  what  way?  "  Marian  glanced  out 
of  the  window  again  as  if  that  were  a  habit  she  had 
formed. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  wish  I  did.  I  thought  perhaps 
you  had  some  trouble  that —  My  mother  had  the 
same  look  in  her  eyes  when  we  came  back  to  the  ranch 
after  some  Indian  trouble,  and  found  the  house  burned 
and  everything  destroyed  but  the  ground  itself.  She 
did  n't  say  anything  much.  She  just  began  helping 
father  plan  how  we  'd  manage  until  we  could  get  ma- 
terial and  build  another  cabin,  and  make  our  supplies 
hold  out.  She  did  n't  complain.  But  her  eyes  had  the 
same  look  I  've  seen  in  yours,  Mrs.  Morris.  So  I  feel 
as  if  I  ought  to  help  you,  just  as  I  'd  help  mother." 
Bud's  face  had  been  red  and  embarrassed  when  he 
began,  but  his  earnestness  served  to  erase  his  self- 
consciousness. 

"  You  're  different  —  just  like  mother,"  he  went  on 
when  Marian  did  not  answer.  "  You  don't  belong 
here  drudging  in  this  kitchen.  I  never  saw  a  woman 
doing  a  man's  work  before.  They  ought  to  have  a 
man  cooking  for  all  these  hulking  men." 

"  Oh,  the  kitchen !  "  Marian  exclaimed  impatiently. 
"  I  don't  mind  the  cooking.    That 's  the  least  —  " 

"  It  is  n't  right,  just  the  same.    I  —  I  don't  suppose 


152  Cow-Country 

that  *s  it  altogether.  I  'm  not  trying  to  find  out  what 
the  trouble  is  —  but  I  wish  you  'd  remember  that  I  'm 
ready  to  do  anything  in  the  world  that  I  can.  You 
won't  misunderstand  that,  I  'm  sure." 

"  No-o/'  said  Marian  slowly.  "  But  you  see,  there 's 
nothing  that  you  can  do  —  except,  perhaps,  make 
things  worse  for  me."  Then,  to  lighten  that  state- 
ment, she  smiled  at  him.  "  Just  now  you  can  help  me 
very  much  if  you  will  go  in  and  play  something  be- 
sides the  Blue  Danube  Waltz.  I  Ve  had  to  listen  to 
that  ever  since  Honora  sent  away  for  the  music  with 
the  winter's  grocery  order,  last  October.  Tell  Honora 
you  got  her  some  mushrooms.  And  don't  trust  any- 
one. If  you  must  bet  on  the  horses,  do  so  with  your 
eyes  open.  They're  cheats  —  and  worse,  some  of 
them." 

Bud's  glance  followed  hers  through  the  window  that: 
overlooked  the  corrals  and  the  outbuildings.  Lew 
was  coming  up  to  the  house  with  a  slicker  over  his 
head  to  keep  off  the  drizzle. 

"  Well,  remember  I  'd  do  anything  for  you  that  I  'd  i 
do  for  my  mother  or  my  sister  Dulcie.     And  I  wish 
you  'd  call  on  me  just  as  they  would,  if  you  get  in  a 
pinch  and  need  me.     If  I  know  you'll  do  that  I'll! 
feel  a  lot  better  satisfied." 

"  If  I  need  you  be  sure  that  I  shall  let  you  know. 
And  I  '11  say  that  it 's  a  comfort  to  have  met  one 
white  man,"  Marian  assured  him  hurriedly,  her  anx- 
ious eyes  on  her  approaching  husband. 

She  need  not  have  worried  over  his  coming,  so  far 
as  Bud  was  concerned.  For  Bud  was  in  the  sitting- 
room  and  had  picked  Honey  ofY  the  piano  stool,  had 
given  her  a  playful  shake  and  was  playing  the  Blue 


Even   Mushrooms   Help      153 

Danube  as  its  composer  intended  that  it  should  be 
played,  when  Lew  entered  the  kitchen  and  kicked  the 
door  shut  behind  him. 

Bud  spent  the  forenoon  conscientiously  trying  to 
teach  Honey  that  the  rests  are  quite  as  important  to 
the  tempo  of  a  waltz  measure  as  are  the  notes.  Honey's 
talent  for  music  did  not  measure  up  to  her  talent  for 
coquetry ;  she  received  about  five  dollars*  worth  of  in- 
struction and  no  blandishments  whatever,  and  although 
she  no  doubt  profited  thereby,  at  last  she  balked  and  put 
her  lazy  white  hands  over  her  ears  and  refused  to 
listen  to  Bud's  inexorable  "  One,  two,  three,  one,  two, 
three-and  one,  two,  three."  Whereupon  Bud  laughed 
and  returned  to  the  bunk-house. 

He  arrived  in  the  middle  of  a  heated  argument  over 
JefT  Hall's  tactics  in  racing  Skeeter,  and  immediately 
was  called  upon  for  his  private,  personal  opinion  of 
Sunday's  race.  Bud's  private,  personal  opinion  be- 
ing exceedingly  private  and  personal,  he  threw  out  a 
skirmish  line  of  banter. 

I  Smoky  could  run  circles  around  that  Skeeter  horse, 
he  boasted,  and  Jeff's  manner  of  riding  was  absolutely 
unimportant,  non-essential  and  immaterial.  He  was 
mighty  glad  that  holdup  man  had  fallen  down,  last 
Sunday,  before  he  got  his  hands  on  any  money,  be- 
:ause  that  money  was  going  to  talk  long  and  loud  to 
Jefif  Hall  next  Sunday.  Now  that  Bud  had  started 
running  his  horse  for  money,  working  for  wages 
looked  foolish  and  unprofitable.  He  was  now  work- 
ing merely  for  healthful  exercise  and  to  pass  the  time 
away  between  Sundays.  His  real  mission  in  life,  he 
had  discovered,  was  to  teach  Jeff's  bunch  that  gam- 
i)ling  is  a  sin.  , 


154  Cow-Country 


The  talk  was  carried  enthusiastically  to  the  dinner^ 
table,  where  Bud  ignored  the  scowling  proximity  of 
Lew  and  repeated  his  boasts  in  a  revised  form  as  an 
indirect  means  of  letting  Marian  know  that  he  meant t 
to  play  the  Burroback  game  in  the  Burroback  way  —  or^ 
as  nearly  as  he  could  —  and  keep  his  honesty  more  or 
less  intact.  He  did  not  think  she  would  approve,  but; 
he  wanted  her  to  know. 

Once,  when  Buddy  was  fifteen,  four  thoroughbred 
cows  and  four  calves  disappeared  mysteriously  from 
the  home  ranch  just  before  the  calves  had  reached! 
branding  age.  Buddy  rode  the  hills  and  the  valleys 
every  spare  minute  for  two  weeks  in  search  of  them, 
and  finally,  away  over  the  ridge  where  an  undesirable 
neighbor  was  getting  a  start  in  cattle.  Buddy  found 
the  calves  in  a  fenced  field  with  eight  calves  belonging 
—  perhaps  —  to  the  undesirable  neighbor. 

Buddy  did  not  ride  down  to  the  ranch  and  accuse- 
the  neighbor  of  stealing  the  calves.  Instead,  he  pains- 
takingly sought  a  weak  place  in  the  fence,  made  3, 
very  accidental  looking  hole  and  drove  out  the  twelve 
calves,  took  them  over  the  ridge  to  Tomahawk  and 
left  them  in  a  high,  mountain  meadow  pretty  well 
surrounded  by  matted  thickets.  There,  because  there 
was  good  grass  and  running  water,  the  calves  seemed 
quite  as  happy  as  in  the  field. 

Then  Buddy  hurried  home  and  brought  a  branding 
iron  and  a  fresh  horse,  and  by  working  very  hard  and 
fast,  he  somehow  managed  to  plant  a  deep  tomahawk 
brand  on  each  one  of  the  twelve  calves.  He  returned 
home  very  late  and  very  proud  of  himself,  and  met  his 
father  face  to  face  as  he  was  putting  away  the  iron. 
Explanations  and  a  broken  harness  strap  mingled  pain- 


Even   Mushrooms   Help      155 

fully  in  Buddy's  memory  for  a  long  time  afterwards, 
but  the  full  effect  of  the  beating  was  lost  because 
Buddy  happened  to  hear  Bob  Birnie  confide  to  mother 
that  the  lad  had  served  the  old  cattle-thief  right,  and 
that  any  man  who  could  start  with  one  thoroughbred 
cow  and  in  four  years  have  sufficient  increase  from 
that  cow  to  produce  eight  calves  a  season,  ought  to 
lose  them  all. 

Buddy   had    not    needed    his    father's    opinion   to 
strengthen  his  own  conviction  that  he  had  performed 
a  worthy  deed  and  one  of  which  no  man  need  feel 
ashamed.     Indeed,  Buddy  considered  the  painful  in- 
cident of  the  buggy  strap  a  parental  effort  at  official 
discipline,  and  held  no  particular  grudge  against  his 
father  after  the  welts  had  disappeared  from  his  person. 
Wherefore  Bud,  the  man,  held  unswervingly  to  the 
ethical  standard  of  Buddy  the  boy.     If  Burroback 
Valley  was  scheming  to  fleece  a  stranger  at  their  races 
and  rob  him  by  force  if  he  happened  to  win,  then  Bud 
felt  justified  in  getting  every  dollar  possible  out  of  the 
I  lot  of  them.    At  any  rate,  he  told  himself,  he  would 
do  his  darndest.     It  was  plain  enough  that  Pop  was 
trying  to  make  an  opportunity  to  talk  confidentially, 
;  but  with  a  dozen  men  on  the  place  it  was  easy  enough 
i  to  avoid  being  alone  without  arousing  the  old  man's 
'  suspicions.    Marian  had  told  him  to  trust  no  one ;  and 
Bud,  with  his  usual  thoroughness,  applied  the  warn- 
ing literally. 

Sunday  morning  he  caught  up  Smoky  and  rode  him 
to  the  corral.  Smoky  had  recovered  from  his  lame- 
ness, and  while  Bud  groomed  him  for  the  afternoon's 
running  the  men  of  Little  Lost  gathered  round  him 
and  offered  advice  and  encouragement,  and  even  vol- 


156  Cow-Country 

tinteered  to  lend  him  money  if  he  needed  it.  But  Bud 
told  them  to  put  up  their  own  bets,  and  never  to 
worry  about  him.  Their  advice  and  their  encourage- 
ment, however,  he  accepted  as  cheerfully  as  they  were 
given. 

"Think  yuh  can  beat  Skeeter,  young  feller?"  Pop 
shambled  up  to  inquire  anxiously,  his  beard  brushing 
Bud's  shoulder  while  he  leaned  close.  "  Remember 
what  I  told  ye.  You  stick  by  me  an'  I  '11  stick  by  you. 
You  shook  on  it,  don't  forgit  that,  young  feller." 

Bud  had  forgotten,  but  he  made  haste  to  redeem 
his  promise.  "  Last  Sunday,  Pop,  I  had  to  play  it 
alone.  To-day  —  well,  if  you  want  to  make  an  honest 
dollar,  you  know  what  to  do,  don't  you?  " 

"  Sho !     I  'm  bettin'  on  yore  horse  t'day,  an'  mind 
ye,  I  want  to  see  my  money  doubled!    But  that  there   \ 
lameness  in  his  left  hind  ankle  —  I  don't  see  but  what   i 
that  kinda  changes  my  opinion  a  little  mite.     You  j 
shore  he  won't  quit  on  ye  in  the  race,  now?  Don't  lie 
to  ole  Pop,  young  feller !  " 

"  Say !    He  's  the  gamest  little  horse  in  the  state. 
Pop.     He  never  has  quit,  and  he  never  will."     Bud    j 
stood  up  and  laid  a  friendly  hand  on  the  old  fellow's    ! 
shoulder.     "  Pop,   I  'm   running  him  to-day  to  win. 
That 's  the  truth.     I  'm  going  to  put  all  I  've  got  on    1 
him.    Is  that  good  enough  ?  "  I 

"  Shucks  a'mighty !     That 's  good  enough  f  er  me,    | 
—  plenty  good  fer  me,"  Pop  cackled,  and  trotted  off  to 
find  someone  who  had  little  enough  faith  in  Smoky 
to  wager  a  two-to-one  against  him. 

It  seemed  to  Bud  that  the  crowd  was  larger  than 
that  of  a  week  ago,  and  there  was  no  doubt  whatever    j 
that  the  betting  was  more  feverish,  and  that  Jeff  meant    i 


Even   Mushrooms   Help      157 

that  day  to  retrieve  his  losses.  Bud  passed  up  a  very 
good  chance  to  win  on  other  races,  and  centred  all 
his  betting  on  Smoky.  He  had  been  throughout  the 
week  boastful  and  full  of  confidence,  and  now  he 
swaggered  and  lifted  his  voice  in  arrogant  challenge 
to  all  and  sundry.  His  three  hundred  dollars  was  on 
the  race,  and  incidentally,  he  never  left  Smoky  from 
the  time  he  led  him  up  from  pasture  until  the  time 
came  when  he  and  Jeff  Hall  rode  side  by  side  down 
to  the  quarter  post. 

They  came  up  in  a  small  whirlwind  of  speed  and 
dust,  and  Smoky  was  under  the  wire  to  his  ears  when 
Skeeter's  nose  showed  beyond  it.  Little  Lost  was 
jubilant.    Jeff  Hall  and  his  backers  were  not. 

Bud's  three  hundred  dollars  had  in  less  than  a  min- 
ute increased  to  a  little  over  nine  hundred,  though  all 
his  bets  had  been  moderate.  By  the  time  he  had  col- 
lected, his  pockets  were  full  and  his  cocksureness  had 
increased  to  such  an  unbearable  crowing  that  Jeff 
Hairs  eyes  were  venomous  as  a  snake's.  Jeff  had 
been  running  to  win,  that  day,  and  he  had  taken  odds 
on  Skeeter  that  had  seemed  to  him  perfectly  safe. 

"  I  '11  run  yuh  horse  for  horse !  "  he  bellowed  and 
spat  out  an  epithet  that  sent  Bud  at  him  white-lipped. 

"  Damn  yuh,  ride  down  to  the  quarter  post  and  I  '11 
show  you  some  running !  "  Bud  yelled  back.  "  And 
after  you  've  swallowed  dust  all  the  way  up  the  track, 
you  go  with  me  to  where  the  women  can't  see  and  I  '11 
lick  the  living  tar  outa  you !  " 

Jeff  swore  and  wheeled  Skeeter  toward  the  starting 
post,  beckoning  Bud  to  follow.  And  Bud,  hastily  tuck- 
ing in  a  flapping  bulge  of  striped  shirt,  went  after  him. 
At  that  moment  he  was  not  Bud,  but  Buddy  in  one  of 


158  Cow-Country 


his  fighting  moods,  with  his  plans  forgotten  while  he 
avenged  an  insult. 

Men  lined  up  at  the  wire  to  judge  for  themselves  the 
finish,  and  Dave  Truman  rode  alone  to  start  them. 
No  one  doubted  but  that  the  start  would  be  fair  — 
Jeff  and  Bud  would  see  to  that! 

For  the  first  time  in  months  the  rein-ends  stung 
Smoky's  flanks  when  he  was  in  his  third  jump.  Just 
once  Bud  struck,  and  was  ashamed  of  the  blow  as  it 
fell.  Smoky  did  not  need  that  urge,  but  he  flattened 
his  ears  and  came  down  the  track  a  full  length  ahead 
of  Skeeter,  and  held  the  pace  to  the  wire  and  beyond, 
where  he  stopped  in  a  swirl  of  sand  and  went  prancing 
back,  ready  for  another  race  if  they  asked  it  of  him. 

"  Guess  Dave  '11  have  to  bring  out  Boise  and  take 
the  swellin'  outa  that  singin'  kid's  pocket,"  a  hard- 
faced  man  shouted  as  Jeff  slid  off  Skeeter  and  went 
over  to  where  his  cronies  stood  bunched  and  conferring 
earnestly  together. 

"  Not  to-day,  he  need  n*t.  I  've  had  iall  the  excite- 
ment I  want ;  and  I  'd  like  to  have  time  to  count  my 
money  before  I  lose  it,"  Bud  retorted.  "  Next  Sun-, 
day,  if  it 's  a  clear  day  and  the  sign  is  right,  I  might 
run  against  Boise  if  it 's  worth  my  while.  Say,  Jeff, 
seeing  you  're  playing  hard  luck,  I  won't  lick  you  for 
what  you  called  me.  And  just  to  show  my  heart 's 
right,  I  '11  lend  you  Skeeter  to  ride  home.  Or  if  you 
want  to  buy  him  back,  you  can  have  him  for  sixty 
dollars  or  such  a  matter.  He  's  a  nice  Httle  horse,  — 
if  you  are  n't  in  a  hurry  1 " 


CHAPTER  FIFTEEN 
Why  Bud  Missed  a  Dance 

"Bud,  you  're  fourteen  kinds  of  a  damn  fool  and  I 
can  prove  it,"  Jerry  announced  without  prelude  of  any 
kind  save,  perhaps,  the  viciousness  with  which  he 
thrust  a  pitchfork  into  a  cock  of  hay.  The  two  were 
turning  over  hay-cocks  that  had  been  drenched  with 
another  unwelcome  storm,  and  they  had  not  been  talk- 
ing much.  "  Forking  "  soggy  hay  when  the  sun  is 
blistering  hot  and  great,  long-billed  mosquitoes  are 
boring  indefatigably  into  the  back  of  one's  neck  is  not 
a  pastime  conducive  to  polite  and  animated  conver- 
sation. 

"  Fly  at  it,"  Bud  invited,  resting  his  fork  while  he 
scratched  a  smarting  shoulder.  "  But  you  can  skip 
some  of  the  evidence.  I  know  seven  of  the  kinds,  and 
I  plead  guilty.  Any  able-bodied  man  who  will  delib- 
erately make  a  barbecue  of  himself  for  a  gang  of 
blood-thirsty  insects  ought  to  be  hanged.  What 's  the 
rest?" 

"You  can  call  that  mild,"  Jerry  stated  severely. 
"  Bud,  you  're  playing  to  lose  the  shirt  off  your  back. 
You  Ve  got  a  hundred  dollar  forfeit  up  on  next  Sun- 
day's running  match,  so  you  '11  run  if  you  have  to 
race  Boise  afoot.     That's  all  right  if  you  want  the 


i6o  Cow-Country 


risk  —  but  did  it  ever  occur  to  you  that  if  all  the  coini 
in  the  neighborhood  is  collected  in  one  man's  pocket,> 
there  '11  be  about  as  many  fellows  as  there  are  losers, 
that  will  lay  awake  till  sun-up  figuring  how  to  heel  him 
and  ride  off  with  the  roll?    I  ain't  over-stocked  withi 
courage,  myself.     I'd  rather  be  broke  in  Burroback 
Valley  than  owner  of  wealth.    It 's  healthier." 

He  thrust  his  fork  into  another  settled  heap,  lifted  1 
it  cle&r  of  the  ground  with  one  heave  of  his  muscular- 
shoulders,  and  heard  within  a  strident  buzzing.     He 
lield  the  hay  poised  until  a  mottled  gray  snake  writhed 
into  view,  its  ugly  jaws  open  and  its  fangs  showing 
malevolently. 

"  Grab  him  with  your  fork.  Bud,"  Jerry  said  coolly. 
*'  A  rattler  —  the  valley  's  full  of  'em,  —  some  of  'em  's 
human." 

The  snake  was  dispatched  and  the  two  went  on  to 
the  next  hay-cock.  Bud  was  turning  over  more  than 
the  hay,  and  presently  he  spoke  more  seriously  than 
was  his  habit  with  Jerry. 

"  You  're  full  enough  of  warnings,  Jerry.  What 
do  you  want  me  to  do  about  it  ?  " 

"  Drift,"  Jerry  advised.  "  There  's  moral  diseases 
just  as  catching  as  smallpox.  This  part  of  the  coun- 
try has  been  settled  up  by  men  that  came  here  first 
because  they  wanted  to  hide  out.  They  Ve  slipped 
into  darn  crooked  ways,  and  the  rest  has  either  fol- 
lowed suit  or  quit.  All  through  this  rough  country 
it 's  the  same  —  over  in  the  Black  Rim,  across 
Thunder  Mountains,  and  beyond  that  to  the  Saw- 
tooth, a  man  that 's  honest  is  a  man  that 's  off  his 
range.  I  'd  like  to  see  you  pull  out  —  before  you  're 
planted." 


why   Bud   Missed  a   Dance     i6i 

Bud  looked  at  Jerry,  studied  him,  feature  by  fea- 
ture. "  Then  what  are  you  doing  here  ?  "  he  demanded 
bluntly.     "  Why  have  n't  you  pulled  out  ?  '' 

"Me?"  Jerry  bit  his  lip.  "Bud,  I'm  going  to 
take  a  chance  and  tell  you  the  God's-truth.  I  dassent. 
I  'm  protected  here  because  I  keep  my  mouth  shut, 
and  because  they  know  I  've  got  to  or  they  can  hand 
me  over.  I  had  some  trouble.  I  'm  on  the  dodge,  and 
Little  Lost  is  right  handy  to  the  Sinks  and  —  Catrock 
Canyon.  There  ain't  a  sheriff  in  Idaho  that  would 
have  one  chance  in  a  thousand  of  getting  me  here. 
But  you  —  say !  "  He  faced  Bud.  "You  ain't  on  the 
dodge,  too,  are  yuh  ?  " 

"  Nope,"  Bud  grinned.  "  Over  at  the  Muleshoe 
they  seemed  to  think  I  was.  I  just  struck  out  for  my- 
self, and  I  want  to  show  up  at  home  some  day  with  a 
stake  I  made  myself.  It 's  just  a  little  argument  with 
my  dad  that  I  want  to  settle.  And,"  he  added 
frankly,  "  I  seem  to  have  struck  the  right  place  to 
make  money  quickly.  The  very  fact  that  they  're  a 
bunch  of  crooks  makes  my  conscience  clear  on  the 
point  of  running  my  horse.  I  'm  not  cheating  them 
out  of  a  cent.  If  Jeff's  horse  is  faster  than  Smoky, 
Jeff  is  privileged  to  let  him  out  and  win  if  he  can. 
It  is  n't  my  fault  if  he  's  playing  to  let  me  win  from 
the  whole  bunch  in  the  hope  that  he  can  hold  me  up 
afterwards  and  get  the  roll.  It 's  straight  *  give  and 
take '  —  and  so  far  I  've  been  taking." 

Jerry  worked  for  a  while,  moodily  silent.  "  What 
I  'd  like  is  to  see  you  take  the  trail ;  while  the  takin  's 
good,"  he  said  later.  "  I  've  got  to  keep  my  mouth 
shut.  But  I  like  yuh,  Bud.  I  hate  like  hell  to  see  you 
walking  straight  into  a  trap." 


1 62  Cow-Country 

"  Say,  I  'm  as  easily  trapped  as  a  mountain  lion," 
Bud  told  him  confidently. 

Whereat  Jerry  looked  at  him  pityingly.  "You 
going  to  that  dance  up  at  Morgan's?" 

"  Sure !  I  'm  going  to  take  Honey  and  —  I  think 
Mrs.  Morris  if  she  decides  to  go.  Honey  mentioned 
it  last  night.     Why?" 

"  Oh,  nothing."  Jerry  shouldered  his  fork  and  went 
off  to  where  a  jug  of  water  was  buried  in  the  hay 
beside  a  certain  boulder  which  marked  the  spot.  He 
drank  long,  stopped  for  a  short  gossip  with  Charley, 
who  strolled  over  for  a  drink,  and  went  to  work  on 
another  row. 

Bud  watched  him,  and  wondered  if  Jerry  had 
changed  rows  to  avoid  further  talk  with  him;  and 
whether  Jerry  had  merely  been  trying  to  get  informa- 
tion from  him,  and  had  either  learned  what  he  wanted 
to  know,  or  had  given  up  the  attempt.  Bud  reviewed 
mentally  their  desultory  conversation  and  decided  that 
he  had  accidentally  been  very  discreet.  The  only  real 
bit  of  information  he  had  given  Jerry  was  the  fact 
that  he  was  not  "  on  the  dodge  "  —  a  criminal  in  fear 
of  tjhe  law  —  and  that  surely  could  harm  no  man. 

That  he  intended  to  run  against  Boise  on  Sunday 
was  common  knowledge;  also  that  he  had  a  hundred- 
dollar  forfeit  up  on  the  race.  And  that  he  was  going 
to  a  dance  with  Honey  was  of  no  consequence  that  he 
could  see. 

Bud  was  beginning  to  discount  the  vague  warnings 
he  had  received.  Unless  something  definite  came 
within  his  knowledge  he  would  go  about  his  business 
exactly  as  if  Burroback  Valley  were  a  church-going 
community.     He  would  not  "  drift." 


why   Bud   Missed  a   Dance      163 

But  after  all  he  did  not  go  to  the  dance  with  Honey, 
or  with  anyone.  He  came  to  the  supper-table  freshly 
shaved  and  dressed  for  the  occasion,  ate  hungrily  and 
straightway  became  a  very  sick  young  man.  He  did 
not  care  if  there  were  forty  dances  in  the  Valley  that 
night.  His  head  was  splitting,  his  stomach  was  in  a 
turmoil.  He  told  Jerry  to  go  ahead  with  Honey,  and 
if  he  felt  better  after  a  while  he  would  follow.  Jerry 
at  first  was  inclined  to  scepticism,  and  accused  Bud  of 
crawfishing  at  the  last  minute.  But  within  ten  min- 
utes Bud  had  convinced  him  so  completely  that  Jerry 
insisted  upon  staying  with  him.  By  then  Bud  was  too 
sick  to  care  what  was  being  done,  or  who  did  it.  So 
Jerry  stayed. 

Honey  came  to  the  bunk-house  in  her  dance  finery, 
was  met  in  the  doorway  by  Jerry  and  was  told  that  this 
was  no  place  for  a  lady,  and  reluctantly  consented  to 
go  without  her  escort. 

A  light  shone  dimly  in  the  kitchen  after  the  dancers 
had  departed,  wherefore  Jerry  guessed  that  Marian 
had  not  gone  with  the  others,  and  that  he  could  per- 
haps get  hold  of  mustard  for  an  emetic  or  a  plaster  — 
Jerry  was  not  sure  which  remedy  would  be  best,  and 
the  patient,  wanting  to  die,  would  not  be  finicky.  He 
found  Marian  measuring  something  drop  by  drop  into 
half  a  glass  of  water.  She  turned,  saw  who  had  en- 
tered, and  carefully  counted  three  more  drops,  corked 
the  bottle  tightly  and  slid  it  into  her  apron  pocket,  and 
held  out  the  glass  to  Jerry. 

"  Give  him  this,"  she  said  in  a  soft  undertone.  "  I  *m 
sorry,  but  I  had  n*t  a  chance  to  say  a  word  to  the  boy, 
and  so  I  could  n't  think  of  any  other  way  of  making 
sure  he  would  not  go  up  to  Morgan's.     I  put  some- 


164  Cow-Country 


thing  into  his  coffee  to  make  him  sick.    You  may  ter'l 
him,  Jerry,  if  you  Hke.     I  should,  if  I  had  the  chance 
This  will  counteract  the  effects  of  the  other  so  that  he 
will  be  all  right  in  a  couple  of  hours." 

Jerry  took  the  glass  and  stood  looking  at  her  stead- 
ily. "  That  sure  was  one  way  to  do  it,"  he  observed, 
with  a  quirk  of  the  lips.  "  It 's  none  of  my  business. 
and  I  ain't  asking  any  questions,  but  —  " 

"  Very  sensible,  I  'm  sure,"  Marian  interrupted  him.. 
"  I  wish  he  'd  leave  the  country.     Can't  you  —  ?  " 

"  No.  I  told  him  to  pull  out,  and  he  just  laughed  at! 
me.  I  knowed  they  was  figuring  on  ganging  together: 
to-night  —  " 

Marian  closed  her  hands  together  with  a  gesture  of 
impatience.  "  Jerry,  I  wish  I  knew  just  how  bad  you 
are!"  she  exclaimed.  "Do  you  dare  stand  by  him? 
Because  this  thing  is  only  beginning.  I  could  n't  bear 
to  see  him  go  up  there  to-night,  absolutely  unsuspect- 
ing—  and  so  I  made  him  sick.  Tell  that  to  anyone, 
and  you  can  make  me  —  " 

"Say,  I  ain't  a  damned  skunk!"  Jerry  muttered. 
"  I  'm  bad  enough,  maybe.  At  any  rate  you  think  so." 
Then,  as  usually  happened,  Jerry  decided  to  hold  his 
tongue.  He  turned  and  lifted  the  latch  of  the  screen 
door.  "  You  sure  made  a  good  job  of  it,"  he  grinned. 
"I'll  go  an'  pour  this  into  Bud  'fore  he  loses  his 
boots!" 

He  did  so,  and  saved  Bud's  boots  and  half  a  night's 
sleep  besides.  Moreover,  when  Bud,  fully  recovered, 
searched  his  memory  of  that  supper  and  decided  that 
it  was  the  sliced  cucumbers  that  had  disagreed  with 
him,  Jerry  gravely  assured  him  that  it  undoubtedly 
was  the  combination  of  cucumber  and  custard  pie,  and 


why   Bud   Missed   a   Dance      165 

that  Bud  was  lucky  to  be  alive  after  such  reckless 
eating. 

Having  missed  the  dance  altogether,  Bud  looked 
forward  with  impatience  to  Sunday.  It  is  quite  pos- 
sible that  others  shared  with  him  that  impatience, 
though  we  are  going  to  adhere  for  a  while  to  Bud's 
point  of  view  and  do  no  more  than  guess  at  the 
thoughts  hidden  behind  the  fair  words  of  certain  men 
in  the  Valley. 

Pop's  state  of  mind  we  are  privileged  to  know,  for 
Pop  was  seen  making  daily  pilgrimage  to  the  pasture 
where  he  could  watch  Smoky  limping  desultorily  here 
and  there  with  Stopper  and  Sunfish.  On  Saturday 
afternoon  Bud  saw  Pop  trying  to  get  his  hands  on 
Smoky,  presumably  to  examine  the  lame  ankle.  But 
three  legs  were  all  Smoky  needed  to  keep  him  out  of 
Pop's  reach.  Pop  forgot  his  rheumatism  and  ran  pretty 
fast  for  a  man  his  age,  and  when  Bud  arrived  Pop's 
vocabulary  had  limbered  up  to  a  more  surprising  ac- 
tivity than  his  legs. 

"Want  to  bet  on  yourself,  Pop?*'  Bud  called  out 
when  Pop  was  running  back  and  forth,  hopefully  try- 
ing to  comer  Smoky  in  a  rocky  draw.  "  I  'm  willing  to 
risk  a  dollar  on  you,  anyway." 

Pop  whirled  upon  him  and  hurled  sentences  not 
written  in  the  book  of  Parlor  Entertainment.  The 
gist  of  it  was  that  he  had  been  trying  all  the  week  to 
have  a  talk  with  Bud,  and  Bud  had  plainly  avoided 
him  after  promising  to  act  upon  Pop's  advice  and  run 
so  as  to  make  some  money. 

"  Well,  I  made  some,"  Bud  defended.     "If  you 
.  did  n't,    it 's    just    because    you    did  n't    bet    strong 
enough." 


1 66  Cow-Country 

**  I  want  to  look  at  that  horse's  hind  foot,"  Pop 
insisted. 

"  No  use.  He 's  too  lame  to  run  against  Boise.  You 
can  see  that  yourself." 

Pop  eyed  Bud  suspiciously,  pulling  his  beard.  "  Are 
you  fixin'  to  double-cross  me,  young  feller?"  he 
wanted  to  know.  "  I  went  and  made  some  purty  big 
bets  on  this  race.  If  you  think  yo  're  goin'  to  fool  ole 
Pop,  you  '11  wish  you  had  n't.  You  got  enemies  al- 
ready in  this  valley,  lemme  tell  yuh.  The  Muleshoe 
ain't  any  bunch  to  fool  with,  and  I  'm  willing  to  say 
't  they  're  laying  fer  yuh.  They  think,"  he  added 
shrewdly,  "  't  yo  're  a  spotter,  or  something.  Air 
yuh?" 

"Of  course  I  am,  Pop !  I  've  spotted  a  way  to  make 
money  and  have  fun  while  I  do  it."  Bud  looked  at  the 
old  man,  remembered  Marian's  declaration  that  Pop 
was  not  very  reliable,  and  groped  mentally  for  a  way 
to  hearten  the  old  man  without  revealing  anything 
better  kept  to  himself,  such  as  the  immediate  effect 
of  a  horse  hair  tied  just  above  a  horse's  hoof,  also  the 
immediate  result  of  removing  that  hair.  Wherefore, 
he  could  not  think  of  much  to  say,  except  that  he 
would  not  attempt  to  run  a  lame  horse  against  Boise. 

"All  I  can  say  is,  to-morrow  morning  you  keep 
your  eyes  open,  Pop,  and  your  tongue  between  your 
teeth.  And  no  matter  what  comes  up,  you  use  your 
own  judgment." 

To-morrow  morning  Pop  showed  that  he  was  taking 
Bud's  advice.  When  the  crowd  began  to  gather  — 
much  earlier  than  usual,  by  the  way,  and  much  larger 
than  any  crowd  Bud  had  seen  in  the  valley  —  Pop  was 
trotting  here  and  there,  listening  and  pulling  his  whis- 


Why   Bud   Missed   a   Dance      167 

kers  and  eyeing  Bud  sharply  whenever  that  young  man 
appeared  in  his  vicinity. 

Bud  led  Smoky  up  at  noon  —  and  Smoky  was  still 
lame.  Dave  looked  at  him  and  at  Bud,  and  grinned. 
"  I  guess  that  forfeit  money  's  mine,"  he  said  in  his 
laconic  way.  "  No  use  running  that  horse.  I  could 
beat  him  afoot." 

This  was  but  the  beginning.  Others  began  to  ban- 
ter and  jeer  Bud,  Jeff's  crowd  taunting  him  with  ma- 
licious glee.  The  singin'  kid  was  going  to  have  some 
of  the  swelling  taken  out  of  his  head,  they  chortled. 
He  had  been  crazy  enough  to  put  up  a  forfeit  on 
to-day's  race,  and  now  his  horse  had  just  three  legs 
to  run  on. 

"  Git  out  afoot,  kid !  "  Jeff  Hall  yelled.  "  If  you  kin 
run  half  as  fast  as  you  kin  talk,  you  '11  beat  Boise  four 
lengths  in  the  first  quarter !  " 

Bud  retorted  in  kind,  and  led  Smoky  around  the 
corral  as  if  he  hoped  that  the  horse  would  recover 
miraculously  just  to  save  his  master's  pride.  The 
crowd  hooted  to  see  how  Smoky  hobbled  along,  barely 
touching  the  toe  of  his  lame  foot  to  the  ground.  Bud 
led  him  back  to  the  manger  piled  with  new  hay,  and 
faced  the  jeering  crowd  belligerently.  Bud  noticed 
several  of  the  Muleshoe  men  in  the  crowd,  no  doubt 
drawn  to  Little  Lost  by  the  talk  of  Bud's  spectacular 
winnings  for  two  Sundays.  Hen  was  there,  and  Day 
Masters  and  Chub.  Also  there  were  strangers  who 
had  ridden  a  long  way,  judging  by  their  sweaty  horses. 
In  the  midst  of  the  talk  and  laughter  Dave  led  out 
Boise  freshly  curried  and  brushed  and  arching  his 
neck  proudly. 

"  No  use.  Bud,"  he  said  tolerantly.    "  I  guess  you  're 


1 6  8  Cow-Country 

set  back  that  forfeit  money  —  unless  you  want  to  go> 
through  the  motions  of  running  a  lame  horse/' 

"  No,  sir,  I  *m  not  going  to  hand  over  any  forfeit: 
money  without  making  a  fight  for  it !  "  Bud  told  him;, 
anger  showing  in  his  voice.  "  I  'm  no  such  piker  as 
that.  I  won't  run  Smoky,  lame  as  he  is  ''  —  Bud  prob- 
ably nudged  his  own  ribs  when  he  said  that !  — 
**  but  if  you  'II  make  it  a  mile,  I  '11  catch  up  my  old 
buckskin  packhorse  and  run  the  race  with  him,  by 
thunder !  He  's  not  the  quickest  horse  in  the  world,  but: 
he  sure  can  run  a  long  while !  " 

They  yelled  and  slapped  one  another  on  the  back,, 
and  otherwise  comported  themselves  as  though  at 
great  joke  had  been  told  them ;  never  dreaming,  poorr 
fools,  that  a  costly  joke  was  being  perpetrated. 

"Go  it,  kid.  You  run  your  packhorse,  and  I'll' 
give  yuh  five  to  one  on  him!  "  a  friend  of  Jeff  Hall's 
yelled  derisively. 

"  I  '11  just  take  you  up  on  that,  and  I  '11  make  it  one 
hundred  dollars,"  Bud  shouted  back.  "  I  'd  run  a  tur- 
tle for  a  quarter,  at  those  odds !  " 

The  crowd  was  having  hysterics  when  Bud  strad- 
dled a  Little  Lost  horse  and,  loudly  declaring  that  he 
would  bring  back  Sunfish,  led  Smoky  limping  back  to 
the  pasture.  He  returned  soon,  leading  the  buckskin. 
The  crowd  surged  closer,  gave  Sunfish  a  glance  and 
whooped  again.  Bud's  face  was  red  with  apparent 
anger,  his  eyes  snapped.  He  faced  them  defiantly, 
his  hand  on  Sunfish's  thin,  straggling  mane. 

"  You  're  such  good  sports,  you  '11  surely  appreciate 
my  feelings  when  I  say  that  this  horse  is  mine,  and 
I  'm  going  to  run  him  and  back  him  to  win !  "  he  cried. 
"  I  may  be  a  darn  fool,  but  I  'm  no  piker.    I  know  what 


why   Bud   Missed  a   Dance      i6g 

this  horse  can  do  when  I  try  to  catch  him  up  on  a  frosty 
morning  —  and  I  'm  going  to  see  if  he  can't  go  just 
as  fast  and  just  as  long  when  I  'm  on  him  as  he  can 
when  I  'm  after  him." 

"  We  '11  go  yuh,  kid !  I  '11  bet  yuh  five  to  one,"  a 
man  shouted.     "  You  name  the  amount  yourself." 

**  Fifty,"  said  Bud,  and  the  man  nodded  and  jotted 
down  the  amount. 

"  Bud,  you  're  a  damn  fool.  I  '11  bet  you  a  hundred 
and  make  it  ten  to  one,"  drawled  Dave,  stroking 
Boise's  face  affectionately  while  he  looked  supercili- 
ously at  Sunfish  standing  half  asleep  in  the  clamor, 
with  his  head  sagging  at  the  end  of  his  long,  ewe  neck. 
|VBut  if  you  '11  take  my  advice,  go  turn  that  fool  horse 
back  in  the  pasture  and  run  the  bay  if  you  must  run 
something." 

)  "  The  bay 's  a  rope  horse.  I  don't  want  to  spoil  him 
by  running  him.  That  little  horse  saved  my  life,  down 
in  the  Sinks.  No,  Sunfish  has  run  times  enough  from 
me  —  now  he  's  got  to  run  for  me,  by  thunder.  I  '11 
bet  on  him,  too !  " 

Jeff  pushed  his  way  through  to  Bud.  He  was  smil- 
ing with  that  crafty  look  in  his  eyes  which  should 
have  warned  a  child  that  the  smile  went  no  deeper  than 
his  lips. 

I  "  Bud,  doggone  it,  I  like  yore  nerve.  Besides,  you 
pwe  me  something  for  the  way  you  trimmed  me  last 
punday.  I  '11  just  give  you  fifteen  to  one,  and  you 
put  up  Skeeter  at  seventy-five,  and  as  much  money  as 
yo  're  a  mind  to.    A  pile  of  it  come  out  of  my  pocket, 

50  —  " 

"Well,  don't  holler  your  head  off,  Jeff.  How's 
two  hundred  ?  " 


lyo  Cow-Country 

"  Suits  me,  kid."     He  winked  at  the  others,  whc^ 
knew  how  sure  a  thing  he  had  to  back  his  wager 
"It'll  be  a  lot  of  money  if  I  should  lose  —  "     H( 
turned  suddenly  to  Dave.     "  How  much  was  that  yotj 
put  up  agin  the  kid,  Dave  ?  " 

"  One  hundred  dollars,  and  a  ten-to-one  shot  I  win,' 
Dave  drawled.     "  That  ought  to  satisfy  yuh  it  ain't  aa 
frame-up.    The  kid  's  crazy,  that 's  all." 

"  Oh!  Am  I  ?  "  Bud  turned  hotly.  "  Well,  I  've 
bet  half  of  all  the  money  I  have  in  the  world.  And: 
I'm  game  for  the  other  half  — "  He  stopped 
abruptly,  cast  one  look  at  Sunfish  and  another  at  Boise, 
stepping  about  uneasily,  his  shiny  coat  rippling,  beau- 
tiful. He  turned  and  combed  Sunfish's  scanty  mane 
with  his  gloved  fingers.  Those  nearest  saw  that  his 
lips  were  trembling  a  little  and  mistook  his  hidden 
emotion  for  anger. 

"  You  got  him  going,"  a  man  whispered  in  Jeff's 
ear.  "  The  kid  's  crazy  mad.  He  '11  bet  the  shirt  off 
his  back  if  yuh  Qgg  him  on  a  little  more." 

Jeff  must  have  decided  to  "  egg  "  Bud  on.  By  the 
time  the  crowd  had  reached  the  course,  and  the  first, 
more  commonplace  races  were  over,  the  other  half  of 
his  money  was  in  the  hands  of  the  stake-holder, 
who  happened  on  this  day  to  be  Jerry.  And  the  odds 
varied  from  four  to  one  up  to  Jeff  Hall's  scornful 
fifteen. 

*'  Bet  yuh  five  hundred  dollars  against  your  bay 
horse,"  Lew  offered  when  Bud  confessed  that  he  had 
not  another  dollar  to  bet. 

"  All  right,  it 's  a  go  with  me,"  Bud  answered  reck- 
lessly. "  Get  his  hundred,  Jerry,  and  put  down  Stop- 
per." 


Why   Bud   Missed   a   Dance     lyr 

"  What 's  that  saddle  worth?  "  another  asked  mean- 
ingly. 

"  One  hundred  dollars/'  snapped  Bud.  **  And  if 
you  want  to  go  further,  there  are  my  chaps  and  spurs 
and  this  silver-mounted  bridle  —  and  my  boots  and 
hat  —  and  I  '11  throw  in  Sunfish  for  whatever  you  say 
his  hide  's  worth.     Who  wants  the  outfit  ?  " 

"  I  '11  take  'em,"  said  Jeff,  and  permitted  Jerry  and 
Dave  to  appraise  the  outfit,  which  Bud  piled  con- 
temptuously in  a  heap. 

He  mounted  Sunfish  bareback,  with  a  rope  halter. 
Bud  was  bareheaded  and  in  his  sock  feet.  His  eyes 
were  terribly  blue  and  bright,  and  his  face  was  flushed 
as  a  drunken  man's.  He  glanced  over  to  the  bank 
where  the  women  and  children  were  watching.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  one  woman  fluttered  her  handker- 
chief, and  his  heart  beat  unevenly  for  a  minute. 

Then  he  was  riding  at  a  walk  down  the  course  to 
the  farthest  post,  and  the  crowd  was  laughing  at  the 
contrast  between  the  two  horses.  Boise  stepped  spring- 
ily,  tossing  his  head,  his  eyes  ablaze  with  ardor  for  the 
race.  Beside  him  Sunfish  walked  steadily  as  if  he 
were  carrying  a  pack.  He  was  not  a  pretty  horse  to 
look  at.  His  neck  was  long  and  thin,  his  mane  and 
tail  scanty  and  uneven,  a  nondescript  sorrel.  His 
head  looked  large,  set  on  the  end  of  that  neck,  his  nose 
was  dished  in  and  his  eyes  had  a  certain  veiled  look, 
as  if  he  were  hiding  a  bad  disposition  under  those 
droopy  lids.  Without  a  saddle  he  betrayed  his  high, 
thin  withers,  the  sway  in  his  back,  his  high  hip  bones. 
His  front  legs  were  fiat,  with  long,  stringy-looking 
muscles  under  his  unkempt  buckskin  hide.  Even  the 
women  laughed  at  Simfish. 


172  Cow-Country 


Beside  them  two  men  rode,  —  the  starter  and  an- 
other to  see  that  the  start  was  fair.  So  they  receded; 
down  the  flat,  yellow  course  and  dwindled  to  mere: 
miniature  figures  against  the  sand,  so  that  one  could  I 
not  tell  one  horse  from  another. 

The  crowd  bunched,  still  laughing  at  how  the  singin* 
kid  was  going  to  feel  when  he  rode  again  to  meet  thenu,. 
It  would  cure  him  of  racing,  they  said.  It  would  be  z 
good  lesson;  serve  him  right  for  coming  in  there  and 
thinking,  because  he  had  cleaned  up  once  or  twice, 
that  he  could  n't  be  beaten. 

"  Here  they  come,"  Jeff  Hall  announced  satisfiedly, 
and  spat  into  the  sand  as  a  tiny  blue  puff  of  smoke 
showed  beside  one  of  the  dots,  and  two  other  dots  be- 
gan to  grow  perceptibly  larger  within  a  yellow  cloud 
which  rolled  along  the  earth. 

Men  reined  this  way  and  that,  or  stood  on  their  toes 
if  they  were  afoot,  the  better  to  see  the  two  rolling 
dots.  In  a  moment  one  dot  seemed  larger  than  the 
other.  One  could  glimpse  the  upflinging  of  knees  as 
two  horses  leaped  closer  and  closer. 

"  Well-1  —  he  's  keepin'  Dave  in  sight  —  that 's 
more  'n  what  I  expected  he  'd  do,"  Jeff  observed. 

It  was  Pop  who  suddenly  gave  a  whoop  that  cracked 
and  shrilled  into  falsetto. 

"  Shucks  almighty !  Dave,  he  's  a-whippin'  up  to 
keep  the  kid  in  sight !  "  he  quavered.  "  Shucks  — 
sJmighty,  he  's  a-comin' !  " 

He  was.  Lying  forward  flattened  along  Sunfish's 
hard-muscled  shoulders.  Bud  was  gaining  and  gaining 
—  one  length,  then  two  lengths  as  he  shot  under  the 
wire,  slowed  and  rode  back  to  find  a  silent  crowd 
watching  him. 


Why   Bud   Missed  a   Dance    173 

He  was  clothed  safely  again  in  chaps,  boots,  spurs, 
hat  —  except  that  I  have  named  the  articles  backward ; 
cowpuncher  that  he  was.  Bud  put  on  his  hat  before  he 
even  reached  for  his  boots  —  and  was  collecting  his 
wagers  relentlessly  as  Shylock  ever  took  his  toll,  be- 
fore he  paid  any  attention  to  the  atmosphere  around 
him.  Then,  because  someone  shouted  a  question  three 
inches  from  his  ear.  Bud  turned  and  laughed  as  he 
faced  them. 

"  Why,  sure  he 's  from  running  stock !  I  never 
said  he  was  n*t  —  because  none  of  you  make-believe 
horsemen  had  sense  enough  to  see  the  speed  in  him 
and  get  curious.  You  bush-racers  never  saw  a  real 
race-horse  before,  I  guess.  They  are  n't  always  pretty 
to  look  at,  you  know.  Sunfish  has  all  the  earmarks 
of  speed  if  you  know  how  to  look  for  them.  He  *s 
thoroughbred;  sired  by  Trump,  out  of  Kansas  Chippy 
—  if  that  means  anything  to  you  fellows."  He  looked 
them  over,  eyes  meeting  eyes  until  his  glance  rested  on 
Jeff  Hall.  "  I  Ve  got  his  registration  papers  in  my 
grip,  if  you  aren't  convinced.  And,"  he  added  by 
way  of  rubbing  it  in,  "  I  guess  I  've  got  about  all  the 
money  there  is  in  this  valley." 

"  No,  you  ain't !  "  Pop  Truman  cackled,  teetering 
backward  and  forward  while  he  counted  his  winnings. 
"  I  bet  on  ye,  young  feller.  Brought  me  in  somethings 
too.     It  did  so!" 


CHAPTER  SIXTEEN 
While  the  Going  ^s  Good 

At  supper  Bud  noticed  that  Marian,  standing  at  his 
right  side,  set  down  his  cup  of  coffee  with  her  right 
hand,  and  at  the  same  instant  he  felt  her  left  hand 
fumble  in  his  pocket  and  then  touch  his  elbow.  She 
went  on,  and  Bud  in  his  haste  to  get  outside  drank  his 
coffee  so  hot  that  it  scalded  his  mouth.  Jerry  rose  up 
and  stepped  backward  over  the  bench  as  Bud  passed 
him,  and  went  out  at  his  heels. 

"  Go  play  the  piano  for  half  an  hour  and  then  meet 
me  where  you  got  them  mushrooms.  And  when  you 
quit  playing,  duck  quick.  Tell  Honey  you  *11  be  back 
in  a  minute.  Have  her  hunt  for  music  for  yuh  while 
you're  out  —  or  something  like  that.     Don't  let  on." 

Bud  might  have  questioned  Jerry,  but  that  cautious 
young  man  was  already  turning  back  to  call  something 
to  Dave,  so  Bud  went  around  the  comer,  glancing 
into  the  pantry  window  as  he  passed.  Marian  was  not 
in  sight,  nor  was  Honey  at  the  moment  when  he  stood 
beside  the  step  of  the  post-office. 

Boldness  carries  its  own  talisman  against  danger. 
Bud  went  in  —  without  slamming  the  door  behind  him, 
you  may  be  sure  —  and  drew  his  small  notebook  from 
his  inside  pocket.    With  that  to  consult  frequently,  he 


while  the   Going  's   Good    175 

sat  down  by  the  window  where  the  failing  light  was 
strongest,  and  proceeded  to  jot  down  imaginary  fig- 
ures on  the  paper  he  pulled  from  his  coat  pocket  and 
unfolded  as  if  it  were  of  no  value  whatever  to  him. 
The  piano  playing  ordered  by  Jerry  could  wait. 

What  Marian  had  to  say  on  this  occasion  could  not 
be  written  upon  a  cigarette  paper.  In  effect  her  note 
was  a  preface  to  Jerry's  commands.  Bud  saw  where 
she  had  written  words  and  erased  them  so  thoroughly 
that  the  cheap  paper  was  almost  worn  through.  She 
had  been  afraid,  poor  lady,  but  her  fear  could  not  pre- 
vent the  writing. 

"  You  must  leave  to-night  for  Crater  and  cash  the 
checks  given  you  to  pay  the  bets.  Go  to  Crater.  If 
you  don't  know  the  way,  keep  due  north  after  you 
have  crossed  Gold  Gap.  There  *s  the  stage  road,  but 
they  '11  watch  that,  I  'm  afraid.  They  mean  to  stop 
payment  on  the  checks.  But  first  they  will  kill  you  if 
they  can.  They  say  you  cheated  with  that  thorough-^ 
bred  horse.  They  took  their  losses  so  calmly  —  I 
knew  that  they  meant  to  rob  you.  To  show  you  how  I 
know,  it  was  Lew  you  shot  on  the  ridge  that  night. 
His  rheumatism  was  caused  by  your  bullet  that  nicked 
his  shoulder.  So  you  see  what  sort  we  are  —  go. 
Don't  wait  —  go  now." 

Bud  looked  up,  and  there  was  Honey  leaning  over 
the  counter,  smiling  at  him. 

"  Well,  how  much  is  it?  "  she  teased  when  she  saw 
he  had  discovered  her. 

Bud  drew  a  line  across  the  note  and  added  imaginary 
columns  of  figures,  his  hat-brim  hiding  his  face. 


176  Cow-Country 


"  Over  eleven  thousand  dollars,"  he  announced,  andii 
twisted  the  paper  in  his  fingers  while  he  went  over  too 
her.     "Almost  enough  to  start  housekeeping!" 

Honey  blushed  and  leaned  to  look  for  something^: 
which  she  pretended  to  have  dropped  and  Bud  seizedl 
the  opportunity  to  tuck  the  paper  out  of  sight.  "  11 
feel  pretty  much  intoxicated  to-night,  Honey,"  hee 
said.  "  I  think  I  need  soothing,  or  something  —  andl 
you  know  what  music  does  to  the  savage  breast.  Let 's 
play." 

"  All  right.  You  Ve  been  staying  away  lately  till 
I  thought  you  were  mad,"  Honey  assented  rather 
eagerly,  and  opened  the  little  gate  in  the  half  partition 
just  as  Bud  was  vaulting  the  counter,  which  gave  her 
a  great  laugh  and  a  chance  for  playful  scuffling.  Bud 
kissed  her  and  immediately  regretted  the  caress. 

Jerry  had  told  him  to  play  the  piano,  but  Bud  took 
his  mandolin  and  played  that  while  Honey  thumped 
out  chords  for  him.  As  he  had  half  expected,  most  of 
the  men  strayed  in  and  perched  here  and  there  listen- 
ing just  as  if  there  had  not  been  a  most  unusual  horse- 
race to  discuss  before  they  slept.  Indeed,  Bud  had 
never  seen  the  Little  Lost  boys  so  thoughtful,  and  this 
rsilence  struck  him  all  at  once  as  something  sinister, 
.like  a  beast  of  prey  stalking  its  kill. 

Two  waltzes  he  played  —  and  then,  in  the  middle  of 
a  favorite  two-step,  a  mandolin  string  snapped  with  a 
•sharp  twang,  and  Bud  came  as  close  to  swearing  as  a 
well-behaved  young  man  may  come  in  the  presence  of  a 
ilady. 

"  Now  I  '11  have  to  go  get  a  new  E  string,"  he  com- 
plained. "  You  play  the  Danube  for  the  boys  —  the 
way  I  taught  you  —  while  I  get  this  fixed.     I  've  an 


while   the   Going  's   Good     177 

extra  string  down  in  the  bunk-house;  it  won't  take 
five  minutes  to  get  it."  He  laid  the  mandolin  down 
on  his  chair,  bolted  out  through  the  screen  door  which 
he  slammed  after  him  to  let  Jerry  know  that  he  was 
coming,  and  walked  halfway  to  the  bunk-house  be- 
fore he  veered  off  around  the  corner  of  t!ie  machine 
shed  and  ran. 

Jerry  was  waiting  by  the  old  shed,  and  without  a 
word  he  led  Bud  behind  it  where  Sunfish  was  standing 
saddled  and  bridled. 

"  You  got  to  go,  Bud,  while  the  going  's  good.  "  I  *d 
go  with  yuh  if  I  dared,"  Jerry  mumbled  guardedly. 
"  You  hit  for  Crater,  Bud,  and  put  that  money  in  the 
bank.  You  can  cut  into  the  stage  road  where  it  crosses 
Oldman  Creek,  if  you  go  straight  up  the  race  track  to 
the  far  end,  and  follow  the  trail  from  there.  You 
can't  miss  it  —  there  ain't  but  one  way  to  go.  I  got 
yuh  this  horse  because  he  's  worth  more  'n  what  the 
other  two  are,  and  he  's  faster.  And  Bud,  if  anybody 
rides  up  on  yuh,  shoot.  Don't  monkey  around  about  it. 
And  you  ride ! '' 

"  All  right,"  Bud  muttered.  "  But  1 11  have  to  go 
down  in  the  pasture  and  get  my  money,  first.  I  've 
got  my  own  private  bank  down  there,  and  I  haven't 
enough  in  my  pockets  to  play  penny  ante  more  than 
one  round." 

"  Hell !  "  Jerry's  hand  lifted  to  Bud's  shoulder  and 
gripped  it  for  a  minute.  "  That 's  right  on  the  road 
to  the  Sinks,  man !  "  He  stood  biting  his  lips,  think- 
ing deeply,  turning  his  head  now  and  then  as  little 
sounds  came  from  the  house:  the  waltz  Honey  was 
playing,  the  post-office  door  slamming  shut. 

"  You  tell  me  where  that  money 's  cached.  Bud, 


178  Cow-Country 

and  I  *11  go  after  it.  I  guess  you  '11  have  to  trust  me 
—  I  sure  wouldn't  let  yuh  go  down  to  the  pasture 
yourself  right  now.     Where  is  it  ?  " 

"  Look  under  that  flat  rock  right  by  the  gate  post, 
where  the  top  bars  hit  the  ground.     It 's  wrapped  up  > 
in  a  handkerchief,  so  just  bring  the  package.    It 's  been 
easy  to  tuck  things  under  the  rock  when  I  was  putting 
up  the  bars.    I  '11  wait  here." 

"  Good  enough  —  I  'd  sure  have  felt  easier  if  I  'd 
known  you  was  n't  carrying  ^11  that  money."  Where- 
upon Jerry  disappeared,  and  his  going  made  no  sound. 

Bud  stood  beside  Sunfish,  wondering  if  he  had  been 
a  fool  to  trust  Jerry.  By  his  own  admission  Jerry 
was  living  without  the  law,  and  this  might  easily  be  a 
smooth  scheme  of  robbery.  He  turned  and  strained 
his  eyes  into  the  dusk,  listening,  trying  to  hear  some 
sound  that  v/ould  show  which  way  Jerry  had  gone. 
He  was  on  the  point  of  following  him  —  suspicion 
getting  the  better  of  his  faith  —  when  Sunfish  moved 
his  head  abruptly  to  one  side,  bumping  Bud's  head 
with  his  cheek.  At  the  same  instant  a  hand  touched 
Bud's  arm. 

"  I  saw  you  from  the  kitchen  window,"  Marian 
whispered  tensely.  "  I  was  afraid  you  had  n't  read 
my  note,  or  perhaps  would  n't  pay  any  attention  to  it. 
I  heard  you  and  Jerry  —  of  course  he  won't  dare  go 
with  you  and  show  you  the  short-cut,  even  if  he  knows 
it.  There 's  a  quicker  way  than  up  the  creek-bed.  I 
have  Boise  out  in  the  bushes,  and  a  saddle.  I  was 
afraid  to  wait  at  the  barn  long  enough  to  saddle  him. 
You  go  —  he  's  behind  that  great  pile  of  rocks,  back 
of  the  corrals.  I  '11  wait  for  Jerry."  She  gave  him  a 
push,  and  Bud  was  so  astonished  that  he  made  no 


while   the   Going's   Good    179 

reply  whatever,  but  did  exactly  as  she  had  told  him 
to  do. 

Boise  was  standing  behind  the  peaked  outcropping 

of  rock,  and  beside  him  was  a  stock-saddle  which  must 

have  taxed  Marian's  strength  to  carry.     Indeed,  Bud 

thought  she  must  have  had  wings,  to  do  so  much  in 

so  short  a  space  of  time;  though  when  he  came  to 

estimate  that  time  he  decided  that  he  must  have  been 

away  from  the  house  ten  minutes,  at  least.    If  Marian 

followed  him  closely  enough  to  see  him  duck  behind 

the  machine  shed  and  meet  Jerry,  she  could  run  behind 

the  corral  and  get  Boise  out  by  way  of  the  back  door 

I  of  the  stable.     There  was  a  path,  screened  from  the 

I  corral  by  a  fringe  of  brush,  which  went  that  way.    The 

truth  flashed  upon  him  that  one  could  ride  unseen  all 

I  around  Little  Lost. 

I      He  was  just  dropping  the  stirrup  down  from  the 
i  saddle  horn  when  Marian  appeared  with  Jerry  and 
I  Sunfish  close  behind  her.    Jerry  held  out  the  package. 
"  She  says  she  '11  show  you  a  short  cut,"  he  whis- 
I  pered.    "  She  says  I  don't  know  anything  about  it.    I 
guess  she  's  right  —  there  's  a  lot  I  don't  know.    Lew  's 
gone,  and  she  says  she  '11  be  back  before  daylight.     If 
they  miss  Boise  they  '11  think  you  stole  him.    But  they 
I  won't  look.    Dave  would  n't  slam  around  in  the  night 
j  on  Boise  —  he  thinks  too  much  of  him.    Well  —  beat 
it,  and  I  sure  wish  yuh  luck.    You  be  careful,  Marian. 
Come  back  this  way,  and  if  you  see  a  man's  handker- 
chief hanging  on  this  bush  right  here  where  I  'm  stand- 
j  ing,  it  '11  mean  you  Ve  been  missed." 
j     "  Thank    you,    Jerry,"    Marian    whispered.     "  I  'II 
j  look  for  it.    Come,  Bud  —  keep  close  behind  me,  and 
j  don't  make  any  noise." 


i8o  Cow-Country 

Bud  would  have  protested,  but  Marian  did  not  give 
him  a  chance.  She  took  up  the  reins,  grasped  the 
saddle  horn,  stuck  her  slipper  toe  in  the  stirrup  and 
mounted  Boise  as  quickly  as  Bud  could  have  done  it  — 
as  easily,  too,  making  allowance  for  the  difference  in 
their  height.  Bud  mounted  Sunfish  and  followed  her 
on  the  trail  which  led  to  the  race  track ;  but  when  they 
had  gone  through  the  brush  and  could  see  starlight 
beyond,  she  turned  sharply  to  the  left,  let  Boise  pick 
his  way  carefully  over  a  rocky  stretch  and  plunged 
into  the  brush  again,  leaning  low  in  the  saddle  so  that 
the  higher  branches  would  not  claw  at  her  hair  and 
face. 

When  they  had  once  more  come  into  open  ground, 
with  a  shoulder  of  Catrock  Peak  before  them,  Marian 
pulled  up  long  enough  to  untie  her  apron  and  bind  it 
over  her  hair  like  a  peasant  woman.  She  glanced  back 
at  Bud,  and  althougl;i  darkness  hid  the  expression  on 
her  face,  he  saw  her  eyes  shining  in  the  starlight.  She 
raised  her  hand  and  beckoned,  and  Bud  reined  Sun- 
fish  close  alongside. 

"  We  're  going  into  a  spooky  place  now,"  she  leaned 
toward  him  to  whisper.  "  Boise  knows  the  way,  and 
your  horse  will  follow." 

"All  right,"  Bud  whispered  back.  "But  you'd 
better  tell  me  the  way  and  let  me  go  on  alone.  I  'm 
pretty  good  at  scouting  out  new  trails.  I  don't  want 
you  to  get  in  trouble  —  " 

She  would  not  listen  to  more  of  that,  but  pushed  him 
back  with  the  flat  of  her  bare  hand  and  rode  ahead 
of  him  again.  Straight  at  the  sheer  bluff,  that  lifted 
its  huge,  rocky  shape  before  them,  she  led  the  way. 
So  far  as  Bud  could  see  she  was  not  following  any  trail. 


^        While  the   Going  's   Good     1 8 1 

but  was  aiming  at  a  certain  point  and  was  sure  enough 
of  the  ground  to  avoid  detours. 

They  came  out  upon  the  bank  of  the  dry  river-bed. 
Bud  knew  it  by  the  flatness  of  the  foreground  and  the 
general  contour  of  the  mountains  beyond.  But  im- 
mediately they  turned  at  a  sharp  angle,  travelled  for  a 
few  minutes  with  the  river-bed  at  their  backs,  and 
entered  a  narrow  slit  in  the  mountains  where  two 
peaks  had  been  rent  asunder  in  some  titanic  upheaval 
when  the  world  was  young.  The  horses  scrambled 
along  the  rocky  bottom  for  a  little  way,  then  Boise 
disappeared. 

Sunfish  halted,  threw  his  head  this  way  and  that, 
gave  a  suspicious  sniff  and  turned  carefully  around  the 
corner  of  a  square-faced  boulder.  In  front  was  black- 
ness. Bud  urged  him  a  little  with  rein  and  soft  pres- 
sure of  the  spurs,  and  Sunfish  stepped  forward.  He 
seemed  reassured  to  find  firm,  smooth  sand  under  his 
feet,  and  hurried  a  little  until  Boise  was  just  ahead 
clicking  his  feet  now  and  then  against  a  rock. 

"  Coming  ?  '*  Marian's  voice  sounded  subdued, 
muffled  by  the  close  walls  of  the  tunnel-like  crevice. 

"  Coming,"  Bud  assured  her  quietly  "  At  your 
heels." 

"  I  always  used  to  feel  spooky  when  I  was  riding 
through  here,"  Marian  said,  dropping  back  so  that 
they  rode  side  by  side,  stirrups  touching.  "  I  was  ten 
when  I  first  made  the  trip.  It  was  to  get  away  from 
Indians.  They  would  n't  come  into  these  place?.  Eddie 
and  I  found  the  way  through.  We  were  afraid  they 
were  after  us,  and  so  we  kept  going,  and  our  horses 
brought  us  out.    Eddie  —  is  my  brother." 

"You  grew  up  here?"     Bud  did  not  know  how 


i82  Cow-Country 

much  incredulity  was  in  his  voice.  "  I  was  raised 
amongst  the  Indians  in  Wyoming.  I  thought  youi 
were  from  the  East.'* 

"  I  was  in  Chicago  for  three  years,"  Marian  ex- 
plained. "  I  studied  every  waking  minute,  I  think.  I 
wanted  to  be  a  singer.  Then  —  I  came  home  to  help 
bury  mother.  Father  —  Lew  and  father  were  part- 
ners, and  I  —  married  Lew.  I  did  n't  know  —  it 
seemed  as  though  I  must.  Father  put  it  that  way. 
The  old  story.  Bud.  I  used  to  laugh  at  it  in  novels, 
but  it  does  happen.  Lew  had  a  hold  over  father  and 
Eddie,  and  he  wanted  me.  I  married  him,  but  it  did 
no  good,  for  father  was  killed  just  a  little  more  than  a 
month  afterwards.  We  had  a  ranch,  up  here  in  the 
Redwater  Valley,  about  halfway  to  Crater.  But  it 
went  —  Lew  gambled  and  drank  and  —  so  he  took 
me  to  Little  Lost.    I  Ve  been  there  for  two  years." 

The  words  of  pity  —  and  more  —  that  crowded  for- 
ward for  utterance.  Bud  knew  he  must  not  speak. 
So  he  said  nothing  at  all. 

"Lew  has  always  held  Eddie  over  my  head,"  she 
went  on  pouring  out  her  troubles  to  him.  "  There  *s 
a  gang,  called  the  Catrock  Gang,  and  Lew  is  one  of 
them.  I  told  you  Lew  is  the  man  you  shot.  I  think 
Dave  Truman  is  in  with  them  —  at  any  rate  he  shuts 
his  eyes  to  whatever  goes  on,  and  gets  part  of  the  steal- 
ings, I  feel  sure.  That 's  why  Lew  is  such  a  favorite. 
You  see,  Eddie  is  one  —  I  'm  trusting  you  with  my 
life,  almost,  when  I  tell  you  this. 

"  But  I  could  n't  stand  by  and  not  lift  a  hand  to  save 
you.  I  knew  they  would  kill  you.  They  'd  have  to, 
because  I  felt  that  you  would  fight  and  never  give  up. 
And  you  are  too  fine  a  man  for  those  beasts  to  murder 


while   the   Going's   Good     183 

for  the  money  you  have.  I  knew,  the  minute  I  saw 
Jeff  paying  you  his  losings  with  a  check,  and  some  of 
the  others  doing  the  same,  just  what  would  happen. 
Jeff  is  almost  as  bad  as  the  Catrockers,  except  that  he 
is  too  cowardly  to  come  out  into  the  open.  He  gave 
you  a  check;  and  everyone  who  was  there  knew  he 
would  hurry  up  to  Crater  and  stop  payment  on  it,  if  he 
could  do  it  and  keep  out  of  your  sight.  Those  cronies 
of  his  would  do  the  same  —  so  they  paid  with  checks. 

"  And  the  Catrock  gang  knew  that.  They  mean  to 
get  hold  of  you,  rob  and  —  and  —  kill  you,  and  forge 
the  endorsement  on  the  checks  and  let  one  man  cash 
them  in  Crater  before  payment  can  be  stopped.  In- 
deed, the  gang  will  see  to  it  that  Jeff  stays  away  from 
Crater.  Lew  hinted  that  while  they  were  about  it 
they  might  as  well  clean  out  the  bank.  It  would  n't  be 
the  first  time,"  she  added  bitterly. 

She  stopped  then  and  asked  for  a  match,  and  when 
Bud  gave  her  one  she  lighted  a  candle  and  held  it  up 
so  that  she  could  examine  the  walls.  "  It 's  a  natural 
tunnel,"  she  volunteered  in  a  different  tone.  "  Some- 
where along  here  there  is  a  branch  that  goes  back  into 
the  hill  and  ends  in  a  blow-hole.  But  we  Ve  all  right 
so  fak" 

She  blew  out  the  candle  and  urged  Boise  forward, 
edging  over  to  the  right. 

"  Was  n't  that  taking  quite  a  chance,  making  a 
light?  "  Bud  asked  as  they  went  on. 

"  It  was,  but  not  so  great  a  chance  as  missing  the 
way.  Jerry  did  n't  hear  an}i:hing  of  them  when  he 
went  to  the  pasture  gate,  and  they  may  not  come 
through  this  way  at  all.  They  may  not  realize  at  first 
that  you  have  left,  and  even  when  they  did  they  would 


184  Cow-Country 


not  believe  at  first  that  you  had  gone  to  Crater.  You 
see  '*  —  and  in  the  darkness  Bud  could  picture  her 
troubled  smile  —  "  they  think  you  are  an  awful  fool, 
in  some  ways.  The  way  you  bet  to-day  was  pure 
madness.'* 

"  It  would  have  been,  except  that  I  knew  I  could 
win." 

"  They  never  bet  like  that.  They  always  *  figure  ', 
as  they  call  it,  that  the  other  fellow  is  going  to  play 
some  trick  on  them.  Half  the  time  Jeff  bets  against 
his  own  horse,  on  the  sly.  They  all  do,  unless  they 
feel  sure  that  their  own  trick  is  best." 

"  They  should  have  done  that  to-day,"  Bud  ob- 
served dryly.  "  But  you  've  explained  it.  They 
thought  I  'm  an  awful  fool." 

Out  of  the  darkness  came  Marian's  voice.  "  It 's 
because  you  're  so  different.  They  can't  understand 
you." 

Bud  was  not  interested  in  his  own  foolishness  just 
then.  Something  in  her  voice  had  thrilled  him  anew 
with  a  desire  to  help  her  and  with  the  conviction  that 
she  was  desperately  in  need  of  help.  There  was  a 
pathetic  patience  in  her  tone  when  she  summarized 
the  whole  affair  in  those  last  two  sentences.  It  was 
as  if  she  were  telling  him  how  her  whole  life  was 
darkened  because  she  herself  was  different  —  because 
they  could  not  understand  a  woman  so  fine,  so  true 
and  sweet. 

"  What  will  happen  if  you  are  missed?  If  you  go 
back  and  discover  Jerry's  handkerchief  on  that  bush, 
what  will  you  do?  You  can't  go  back  if  they  find 
out  —  "  There  was  no  need  for  him  to  finish  that 
sentence.         * 


While   tlie   Going's   Good    185 


*  I  don't  know,"  said  Marian,  "  what  I  shall  do.  I 
had  n't  thought  much  about  it." 

"  I  have  n't  thought  much  about  anything  else," 
Bud  told  her  straightforwardly.  "If  Jerry  flags  you, 
you  'd  better  keep  going.  Could  n't  you  go  to 
friends  ?  " 

"I  could  —  if  I  had  any.  Bud,  you  don't  under- 
stand. Eddie  is  the  only  relative  I  have  on  earth,  that 
I  know  at  all.  He  is  —  he  's  with  the  Catrockers 
and  Lew  dominates  him  completely.  Lew  has  pushed 
Ed  into  doing  things  so  that  I  must  shield  both  or 
neither.  And  Eddie  's  just  a  boy.  So  I  Ve  no  one 
at  all." 

Bud  studied  this  while  they  rode  on  through  the 
defile  that  was  more  frequently  a  tunnel,  since  the 
succession  of  caves  always  had  an  outlet  which  Marian 
found.  She  had  stopped  now  and  dismounted,  and 
they  were  leading  their  horses  down  a  steep,  scram- 
bling place  with  the  stars  showing  overhead. 

"  A  blowhole,"  Marian  informed  him  briefly. 
*'  We  '11  come  into  another  cave,  soon,  and  while  it 's 
safe  if  you  know  it,  I  '11  explain  now  that  you  must 
walk  ahead  of  your  horse  and  keep  your  right  hand 
always  in  touch  with  the  wall  until  we  see  the  stars 
again.  There  's  a  ledge  —  five  feet  wide  in  the  nar- 
rowest place,  if  you  are  nervous  about  ledges  —  and 
if  you  should  get  ofY  that  you  'd  have  a  drop  of  ten 
feet  or  so.  We  found  that  the  ledge  makes  easier 
travelling,  because  the  bottom  is  full  of  rocks  and 
nasty  depressions  that  are  noticeable  only  with  lights." 

She  started  off  again,  and  Bud  followed  her,  his 
gloved  fingers  touching  the  right  wall,  his  soul  hum- 
bled before  the  greatness  of  this  little  woman  with  the 


1 8  6  Cow-Country 

deep,  troubled  eyes.  When  they  came  out  into  th.i 
starlight  she  stopped  and  listened  for  what  seemed  t< 
Bud  a  very  long  time. 

"If  they  are  coming,  they  are  a  long  way  behim 
us,"  she  said  relievedly,  and  remounted.    "  Boise  know 
this  trail  and  has  made  good  time.     And  your  hors<( 
has  proven  beyond  all  doubt  that  he 's  a  thoroughbred  i 
I  Ve  seen  horses  balk  at  going  where  we  have  gone.* 

"  And  I  Ve  seen  men  who  counted  themselves  brav<( 
as  any,  who  would  n't  do  what  you  are  doing  to-nighti 
Jerry,  for  instance.  I  wish  you'd  go  back.  I  can': I 
bear  having  you  take  this  risk." 

"  I  can't  go  back.  Bud.  Not  if  they  find  I  Ve  gone.' 
Then  he  heard  her  laugh  quietly.  "  I  can't  imagine- 
now  why  I  stayed  and  endured  it  all  this  while.  ]i 
think  I  only  needed  the  psychological  moment  for  re-^ 
bellion,  and  to-night  the  moment  came.  So  you  see^ 
you  have  really  done  me  a  service  by  getting  into  this 
scrape.  It 's  the  first  time  I  have  been  off  the  ranch 
in  a  year." 

"If  you  call  that  doing  you  a  service,  I  'm  going  to 
ask  you  to  let  me  do  something  also  for  you."  Bud 
half  smiled  to  himself  in  the  darkness,  thinking  how 
diplomatic  he  was.  "If  you  're  found  out,  you  '11 
have  to  keep  on  going,  and  I  take  it  you  would  n't  be 
particular  where  you  went.  So  I  wish  you  'd  take 
charge  of  part  of  this  money  for  me,  and  if  you  leave, 
go  down  to  my  mother,  on  the  Tomahawk  ranch,  out 
from  Laramie.  Anyone  can  tell  you  where  it  is,  when 
you  get  down  that  way.  If  you  need  any  money,  use 
it.  And  tell  mother  I  sent  her  the  finest  cook  in  the 
country.  Mother,  by  the  way,  is  a  great  musician, 
Marian.    She  taught  me  all  I  know  of  music.    You  'd 


While   the   Going's   Good     187 

get  along  just  fine  with  mother.  And  she  needs  you, 
honest.  She  is  n't  very  strong,  yet  she  can't  find  any- 
one to  suit,  down  there  —  " 

"  I  might  not  suit,  either,"  said  Marian,  her  voice 
somewhat  muffled. 

"Oh,  I'm  not  afraid  of  that.  And  —  there's  a 
message  I  want  to  send  —  I  promised  mother  I  'd  —  " 

"  Oh,  hush !  You  're  really  an  awfully  poor  pre- 
varicator, Bud.    This  is  to  help  me,  you  're  planning." 

"  Well  —  it 's  to  help  me  that  I  want  you  to  take 
part  of  the  money.  The  gang  won't  hold  you  up,  will 
they  ?  And  I  want  mother  to  have  it.  I  want  her  to 
have  you,  too,  —  to  help  out  when  company  comes 
drifting  in  there,  sometimes  fifteen  or  twenty  strong. 
Especially  on  Sunday.  Mother  has  to  wait  on  them 
and  cook  for  them,  and  —  as  long  as  you  are  going  to 
cook  for  a  bunch,  you  may  as  well  do  it  where  it  will 
be  appreciated,  and  where  you  '11  be  treated  like  a  — 
like  a  lady  ought  to  be  treated." 

"  You  're  even  worse  —  "  began  Marian,  laughing 
softly,  and  stopped  abruptly,  listening,  her  head  turned 
behind  them.  "  Sh-sh  —  someone  is  coming  behind 
us,"  she  whispered.  "  We  're  almost  through  —  come 
on,  and  don't  talk !  " 


CHAPTER   SEVENTEEN 
Guardian  Angels  Are  Riding  "  Point  " 

They  plunged  into  darkness  again,  rode  at  a  half 
trot  over  smooth,  hard  sand.   Bud  trusting  himself 
wholly  to  Marian  and  to  the  sagacity  of  the  two  horses 
who  could  see,  he  hoped,  much  better  than  he  himself 
could.     His  keen  hearing  had  caught  a  faint  sound 
from  behind  them  —  far  back  in  the  crevice-like  gorge 
they  had  just  quitted,  he  believed.    For  Marian's  sake 
he  stared  anxiously  ahead,  eager  for  the  first  faint;^ 
suggestion  of  starlight  before  them.    It  came,  and  he?| 
breathed  freer  and  felt  of  his  gun  in  its  holster,  pull-i 
ing  it  forward  an  inch  or  two.  | 

"  This  way.  Bud,"  Marian  murmured,  and  swung^j 
Boise  to  the  left,  against  the  mountain  under  and! 
through  which  they  seemed  to  have  passed.  She  led! 
him  into  another  small  gorge  whose  extent  he  could  j 
not  see,  and  stopped  him  with  a  hand  pressed  againstlj 
Sunfish's  shoulder. 

"  We  'd  better  get  down  and  hold  our  horses  quiet," 
she  cautioned.  "  Boise  may  try  to  whinny,  and  he 
must  n't." 

They  stood  side  by  side  at  their  horses'  heads,  hold-  _ 
ing  the  animals  close.    For  a  time  there  were  no  sounds 
at  all  save  the  breathing  of  the  horses  and  once  a  re-  i 


J 


Angels   Are   Riding  "Point"     189 

pressed  sigh  from  Marian.  Bud  remembered  sud- 
denly how  tired  she  must  be.  At  six  o'clock  that  morn- 
ing she  had  fed  twelve  men  a  substantial  breakfast. 
At  noon  there  had  been  dinner  for  several  more  than 
twelve,  and  supper  again  at  six  —  and  here  she  was, 
risking  her  life  when  she  should  be  in  bed.  He  felt 
for  her  free  hand,  found  it  hanging  listlessly  by  her 
side  and  took  it  in  his  own  and  held  it  there,  just  as  one 
holds  the  hand  of  a  timid  child.  Yet  Marian  was  not 
timid. 

A  subdued  mutter  of  voices,  the  click  of  hoofs  strik- 
ing against  stone,  and  the  pursuers  passed  within 
thirty  feet  of  them.  Boise  had  lifted  his  head  to 
nicker  a  salute,  but  Marian's  jerk  on  the  reins  stopped 
him.  They  stood  very  still,  not  daring  so  much  as  a 
whisper  until  the  sounds  had  receded  and  silence  came 
again. 

"  They  took  the  side-hill  trail,"  whispered  Marian, 
pushing  Boise  backward  to  turn  him  in  the  narrow 
defile.  "  You  '11  have  to  get  down  the  hill  into  the 
creek-bed  and  follow  that  until  you  come  to  the  stage 
road.  There  may  be  others  coming  that  way,  but  they 
will  be  two  or  three  miles  behind  you.  This  tunnel 
trail  cuts  off  at  least  five  miles  but  we  had  to  go 
slower,  you  see. 

"  Right  here  you  can  lead  Sunfish  down  the  bluff 
to  the  creek.  It 's  all  dry,  and  around  the  first  bend 
you  will  see  where  the  road  crosses.  Turn  to  the  left 
on  that  and  ride!  This  horse  of  yours  will  have  to 
show  the  stuff  that 's  in  him.  Get  to  Crater  ahead  of 
these  men  that  took  the  hill  trail.  They  '11  not  ride 
fast  —  they  never  dreamed  you  had  come  through  here, 
but  they  came  to  cut  off  the  distance  and  to  head  you 


II 


I  go  Cow-Country 


off.     With  others  behind,  you  must  beat  them  all  m 
or  you  '11  be  trapped  between."  | 

She  had  left  Boise  tied  hastily  to  a  bush  and  wassi 
walking  ahead  of  Bud  down  the  steep,  rocky  hillsidct^j 
to  show  him  the  easiest  way  amongst  the  boulders.; 
Halfway  down.  Bud  caught  her  shoulder  and  stopped! 
her. 

"  I  'm  not  a  kid,"  he  said  firmly.     "  I  can  make  it: 
from  here  alone.     Not  another  step,  young  lady.     If;' 
you  can  get  back  home  you  '11  be  doing  enough.    Take 
this  —  it 's  money,  but  I  don't  know  how  much.    And'l 
watch  your  chance  and  go  down  to  mother  with  that 
message.     Birnie,  of  the  Tomahawk  outfit  —  you'll 
find  out  in  Laramie  where  to  go.     And  tell  motherr 
I  'm  all  right,  and  she  '11  see  me  some  day  —  when 
I  've  made  my  stake.     God  bless  you,  little  woman. 
You  're  the  truest,  sweetest  little  woman  in  the  world. 
There  's   just   one   more   like  you  —  that 's   moiher:] 
Now  go  back  —  and  for  God's  sake  be  careful!"       \ 

He  pressed  money  into  her  two  hands,  held  themi 
tightly  together,  kissed  them  both  hurriedly  andl 
plunged  down  the  hill  with  Sunfish  slipping  and  sliding 
after  him.  For  her  safety,  if  not  for  his  own,  he 
meant  to  get  away  from  there  as  quickly  as  possible. 

In  the  creek  bed  he  mounted  and  rode  away  at  a 
sharp  gallop,  glad  that  Sunfish,  thoroughbred  though 
he  was,  had  not  been  raised  tenderly  in  stall  and  corral, 
but  had  run  free  with  the  range  horses  and  had  learned 
to  keep  his  feet  under  him  in  rough  country  or  smooth. 
When  he  reached  the  crossing  of  the  stage  road  he 
turned  to  the  left  as  Marian  had  commanded  and  put 
Sunfish  to  a  pace  that  slid  the  miles  behind  him. 

With  his  thoughts  clinging  to  Marian,  to  the  harsh- 


Angels   Are   Riding  "Point"     191 

ness  which  life  had  shown  her  who  was  all  goodness 
and  sweetness  and  courage,  Bud  forgot  to  keep  careful 
watch  behind  him,  or  to  look  for  the  place  where  the 
hill  trail  joined  the  road,  as  it  probably  did  some 
distance  from  Crater.  It  would  be  a  blind  trail,  of 
course  —  since  only  the  Catrock  gang  and  Marian 
knew  of  it. 

They  came  into  the  road  not  far  behind  him,  out  of 
rock-strewn,  brushy  wilderness  that  sloped  up  steeply 
to  the  rugged  sides  of  Gold  Gap  mountains.  Sunfish 
discovered  them  first,  and  gave  Bud  warning  just  be- 
fore they  identified  him  and  began  to  shoot. 

Bud  laid  himself  along  the  shoulder  of  his  horse 
with  a  handful  of  mane  to  steady  him  while  he  watched 
his  chance  and  fired  back  at  them.  There  were  four, 
just  the  number  he  had  guessed  from  the  sounds  as 
they  came  out  of  the  tunnel.  A  horse  ran  staggering 
toward  him  with  the  others,  faltered  and  fell.  Bud 
v.as  sorry  for  that.  It  had  been  no  part  of  his  plan  to 
shoot  down  the  horses. 

The  three  came  on,  leaving  the  fourth  to  his  own 
devices  —  and  that,  too,  was  quite  in  keeping  with 
the  type  of  human  vultures  they  were.  They  kept 
firing  at  Bud,  and  once  he  felt  Sunfish  wince  and  leap 
forward  as  if  a  spur  had  raked  him.  Bud  shot  again, 
and  thought  he  saw  one  horseman  lurch  backward. 
But  he  could  not  be  sure  —  they  were  going  at  a 
terrific  pace  now,  and  Sunfish  was  leaving  them  far- 
ther and  farther  behind.  They  were  outclassed,  hope- 
lessly out  of  pistol  range,  and  they  must  have  known 
it,  for  although  they  held  to  the  chase  they  fired  no 
more  shots. 

Then  a  dog  barked,  and  Bud  knew  that  he  was 


192  Cow-Country 


passing  a  ranch.  He  could  smell  the  fresh  hay  in  the. 
stacks,  and  a  moment  later  he  descried  the  black  hulk; 
of  ranch  buildings.  Sunfish  was  running  easily,  his 
breath  unlabored.  Bud  stood  in  the  stirrups  andi 
looked  back.  They  were  still  coming,  for  he  couldi 
hear  the  pound  of  hoofs. 

The  ranch  was  behind  him.  Clear  starlight  was  all! 
around,  and  the  bulk  of  near  mountains.  The  road 
seemed  sandy,  yielding  beneath  the  pound  of  Sunfish's 
hoofs.  Bud  leaned  forward  again  in  the  saddle,  and. 
planned  what  he  would  do  when  he  reached  Crater; 
found  time,  also,  to  hope  that  Marian  had  gone  back,, 
and  had  not  heard  the  shooting. 

Another  dog  barked,  this  time  on  the  right.  Bud! 
saw  that  they  were  passing  a  picket  fence.  The  bark- 
ing of  this  dog  started  another  farther  ahead  and  to 
the  left.  Houses  so  close  together  could  only  mean 
that  he  was  approaching  Crater.  Bud  began  to  pull 
Sunfish  down  to  a  more  conventional  pace.  He  did 
not  particularly  want  to  see  heads  thrust  from  win- 
dows, and  questions  shouted  to  him.  The  Catrock 
gang  might  have  friends  up  this  way.  It  would  be 
strange.  Bud  thought,  if  they  had  n't. 

He  loped  along  the  road  grown  broader  now  and* 
smoother.  Many  houses  he  passed,  and  the  mouths  of 
obscure  lanes.  Dogs  ran  out  at  him.  Bud  slowed  to 
a  walk  and  turned  in  the  saddle,  listening.  Away  back, 
where  he  had  first  met  the  signs  of  civilization,  the 
dog  he  had  aroused  was  barking  again,  his  deep  bay- 
ing blurred  by  the  distance.  Bud  grinned  to  himself 
and  rode  on  at  a  walk,  speaking  now  and  then  to  an 
inquiring  dog  and  calling  him  Purp  in  a  tone  that 
soothed. 


Angels   Are   Riding  "Point"     193 

Crater,  he  discovered  in  a  cursory  patrol  of  the 
place,  was  no  more  than  an  overgrown  village.  The 
court-house  and  jail  stood  on  the  main  street,  and  just 
beyond  was  the  bank.  Bud  rode  here  and  there,  ex- 
amining closely  the  fronts  of  various  buildings  before 
he  concluded  that  there  was  only  the  one  bank  in 
Crater.  When  he  was  quite  sure  of  that  he  chose  a 
place  near  by  the  rear  of  the  bank,  where  one  horse 
and  a  cow  occupied  a  comfortable  corral  together, 
with  hay.  He  unsaddled  Sunfish  and  turned  him  in 
there,  himself  returning  to  the  bank  before  those  other 
night-riders  had  more  than  reached  the  first  strag- 
gling suburbs  of  the  town. 

On  the  porch  of  the  court-house,  behind  a  jutting 
comer  pillar  that  seemed  especially  designed  for  the 
concealment  of  a  man  in  Bud's  situation,  he  rolled  a 
cigarette  which  he  meant  to  smoke  later  on  when  the 
way  was  clear,  and  waited  for  the  horsemen  to  appear. 

Presently  they  came,  rode  to  a  point  opposite  the 
court-house  and  bank  with  no  more  than  a  careless 
glance  that  way,  and  halted  in  front  of  an  uninviting 
hotel  across  the  street.  Two  remained  on  their  horses 
while  the  third  pounded  on  the  door  and  shook  it  by 
the  knob  and  finally  raised  the  landlord  from  his  sleep. 
There  was  a  conference  which  Bud  witnessed  with 
much  interest.  A  lamp  had  been  lighted  in  the  bare 
office,  and  against  the  yellow  glow  Bud  distinctly  saw 
the  landlord  nod  his  head  twice  —  which  plainly  be- 
tokened some  sort  of  understanding. 

He  was  glad  that  he  had  not  stopped  at  the  hotel. 
He  felt  much  more  comfortable  on  the  court-house 
porch.  "  Mother's  guardian  angels  must  be  riding 
*  point '  to-night,"  he  mused. 


194  Cow-Country 


I 


The  horsemen  rode  back  to  a  Hvery  stable  which^ 
Bud  had  observed  but  had  not  entered.  There  they 
also  sought  for  news  of  him,  it  would  appear.  You 
will  recall,  however,  that  Bud  had  ridden  slowly  into 
the  business  district  of  Crater,  and  his  passing  had 
been  unmarked  except  by  the  barking  of  dogs  that 
spent  their  nights  in  yammering  at  every  sound  and! 
so  were  never  taken  seriously.  The  three  horsemen 
were  plainly  nonplussed  and  conferred  together  in  low 
tones  before  they  rode  on.  It  was  evident  that  they 
meant  to  find  Bud  if  they  could.  What  they  meant  to 
do  with  him  Bud  did  not  attempt  to  conjecture.  He 
did  not  intend  to  be  found. 

After  a  while  the  horsemen  rode  back  to  the  hotel, 
got  the  landlord  out  with  less  difficulty  than  before 
and  had  another  talk  with  him. 

"  He  stole  a  horse  from  Dave  Truman,"  Bud  heard 
one  of  the  three  say  distinctly.  "  That  there  running 
horse  Dave  had." 

The  landlord  tucked  in  his  shirt  and  exclaimed  at 
the  news,  and  Bud  heard  him  mention  the  sheriff. 
But  nothing  came  of  that  evidently.  They  talked  fur- 
ther and  reined  their  horses  to  ride  back  whence  they 
came. 

"  He  likely  's  give  us  the  slip  outside  of  town,  some 
place,"  one  man  concluded.  "  We  '11  ride  back  and 
see.  If  he  shows  up,  he  '11  likely  want  to  eat.  .  .  . 
And  send  Dick  out  to  the  Stivers  place.  We  '11  come 
a-running."  He  had  lowered  his  voice  so  that  Bud 
could  not  hear  what  was  to  happen  before  the  land- 
lord sent  Dick,  but  he  decided  he  would  not  pry  into 
the  matter  and  try  to  fill  that  gap  in  the  conversation. 

He  sat  where  he  was  until  the  three  had  ridden  back 


Angels   Are   Riding  "Point"     195 

down  the  sandy  road  which  served  as  a  street.  Then 
he  slipped  behind  the  court-house  and  smoked  his 
cigarette,  and  went  and  borrowed  hay  from  the  cow 
and  the  horse  in  the  corral  and  made  himself  some 
sort  of  bed  with  his  saddle  blanket  to  help  out,  and 
slept  until  morning. 


CHAPTER  EIGHTEEN 
The  Catrock  Gang 

A  WOMAN  with  a  checkered  apron  and  a  motherly 
look  came  to  let  her  chickens  out  and  milk  the  cow,  and 
woke  Bud  so  that  she  could  tell  him  she  believed  he 
had  been  on  a  "  toot ",  or  he  never  would  have  taken 
such  a  liberty  with  her  corral.  Bud  agreed  to  the  toot, 
and  apologized,  and  asked  for  breakfast.  And  the 
woman,  after  one  good  look  at  him,  handed  him  the 
milk  bucket  and  asked  him  how  he  liked  his  eggs. 

"  All  the  way  from  barn  to  breakfast,"  Bud  grinned, 
and  the  woman  chuckled  and  called  him  Smarty,  and 
told  him  to  come  in  as  soon  as  the  cow  was  milked. 

Bud  had  a  great  breakfast  with  the  widow  Hanson. 
She  talked,  and  Bud  learned  a  good  deal  about  Crater 
and  its  surroundings,  and  when  he  spoke  of  holdup 
gangs  she  seemed  to  know  immediately  what  he  meant, 
and  told  him  a  great  deal  more  about  the  Catrockers 
than  Marian  had  done.  Everything  from  murdering 
and  robbing  a  peddler  to  looting  the  banks  at  Crater 
and  Lava  was  laid  to  the  Catrockers.  They  were  the 
human  buzzards  that  watched  over  the  country  and 
swooped  down  wherever  there  was  money.  The 
sheriff  could  n't  do  anything  with  them,  and  no  one 
expected  him  to,  so  far  as  Bud  could  discover. 


The  Catrock  Gang         197 

He  hesitated  a  long  time  before  he  asked  about 
Marian  Morris.  Mrs.  Hanson  wept  while  she  related 
Marian's  history,  which  in  substance  was  exactly  what 
Marian  herself  had  told  Bud.  Mrs.  Hanson,  how- 
ever, told  how  Marian  had  fought  to  save  her  father 
and  Ed,  and  how  she  had  married  Lew  Morris  as  a 
part  of  her  campaign  for  honesty  and  goodness.  Now 
she  was  down  at  Little  Lost  cooking  for  a  gang  of 
men,  said  Mrs.  Hanson,  when  she  ought  to  be  out  in 
the  world  singing  for  thousands  and  her  in  silks  and 
diamonds  instead  of  gingham  dresses  and  not  enough 
of  them. 

"  Marian  Collier  is  the  sweetest  thing  that  ever 
grew  up  in  this  country,"  the  old  lady  sniffled.  "  She  's 
one  in  a  thousand  and  when  she  was  off  to  school 
she  showed  that  she  was  n't  no  common  trash.  She 
wanted  to  be  an  opery  singer,  but  then  her  mother 
died  and  Marian  done  what  looked  to  be  her  duty.  A 
bird  in  a  trap  is  what  I  call  her." 

Bud  regretted  having  opened  the  subject,  and 
praised  the  cooking  by  way  of  turning  his  hostess's 
thoughts  into  a  different  channel.  He  asked  her  if 
she  would  accept  him  as  a  boarder  while  he  was  in 
town,  and  was  promptly  accepted. 

He  did  not  want  to  appear  in  public  until  the  bank 
was  opened,  and  he  was  a  bit  troubled  over  identifica- 
tion. There  could  be  no  harm,  he  reflected,  in  con- 
fiding to  Mrs.  Hanson  as  much  as  was  necessary  of 
his  adventures.  Wherefore  he  dried  the  dishes  for 
her  and  told  her  his  errand  in  town,  and  why  it  was 
that  he  and  his  horse  had  slept  in  her  corral  instead  of 
patronizing  hotel  and  livery  stable.  He  showed 
her  the  checks  he  wanted  to  cash,  and  asked  her,  with 


igS  Cow-Country 

a  flattering  eagerness  for  her  advice,  what  he  should 
do.  He  had  been  warned,  he  said,  that  Jeff  and  his 
friends  might  try  to  beat  him  yet  by  stopping  payment, 
and  he  knew  that  he  had  been  followed  by  them  to 
town. 

"What  you'll  do  will  be  what  I  tell  ye,"  Mrs. 
Hanson  replied  with  decision.  "  The  cashier  is  a 
friend  to  me  —  I  was  with  his  wife  last  month  with  her 
first  baby,  and  they  swear  by  me  now,  for  I  gave  her 
good  care.  We  '11  go  over  there  this  minute,  and  have 
a  talk  with  him.  He  '11  do  what  he  can  for  ye,  and 
he  '11  do  it  for  my  sake." 

"  You  don't  know  me,  remember,"  Bud  reminded 
her  honestly. 

The  widow  Hanson  gave  him  a  scornful  smile  and 
a  toss  of  her  head.  "  And  do  I  not?  "  she  demanded. 
"  Do  you  think  I  've  buried  three  husbands  and  think- 
ing now  of  the  fourth,  without  knowing  what 's  wrote 
in  a  man's  face?  Three  I  buried,  and  only  one  died 
in  his  bed.  I  can  tell  if  a  man  's  honest  or  not,  with- 
out giving  him  the  second  look.  If  you  've  got  them 
checks  you  should  gtt  the  money  on  them  —  for  I 
know  their  stripe.  Come  on  with  me  to  Jimmy  Law- 
ton's  house.  He  's  likely  holding  the  baby  while  Min- 
nie does  the  dishes." 

Mrs.  Hanson  guessed  shrewdly.  The  cashier  of  the 
Crater  County  Bank  was  doing  exactly  what  she  said 
he  would  be  doing.  He  was  sitting  in  the  kitchen,  rock- 
ing a  pink  baby  wrapped  in  white  outing  flannel  with 
blue  border,  when  Mrs.  Hanson,  without  the  formality 
of  more  than  one  warning  tap  on  the  screen  door, 
walked  in  with  Bud.  She  held  out  her  hands  for  the 
baby  while  she  introduced  the  cashier  to  Bud.     In 


The   Catrock   Gang  199 

the  next  breath  she  was  explaining  what  was  wanted 
of  the  bank. 

"  They  Ve  done  it  before,  and  ye  know  it  *s  plain 
thievery  and  ought  to  be  complained  about.  So  now 
get  your  wits  to  work,  Jimmy,  for  this  friend  of  mine 
is  entitled  to  his  money  and  should  have  it  if  it 's  there 
to  be  had." 

"  Oh,  it 's  there,''  said  Jimmy.  He  looked  at  his 
watch,  looked  at  the  kitchen  clock,  looked  at  Bud  and 
winked.  "  We  open  at  nine,  in  this  town,"  he  said. 
"  It  lacks  half  an  hour  —  but  let  me  see  those  checks." 

Very  relievedly  Bud  produced  them,  watched  the 
cashier  scan  each  one  to  make  sure  that  they  were 
right,  and  quaked  when  Jimmy  scowled  at  Jeff  Hall's 
signature  on  the  largest  check  of  all.  "  He  had  a 
notion  to  use  the  wrong  signature,  but  he  may  have 
lost  his  nerve.  It 's  all  right,  Mr.  Birnie.  Just  endorse 
these,  and  I  '11  take  them  into  the  bank  and  attend  to 
them  the  first  thing  I  do  after  the  door  is  open.  You  'd 
better  come  in  when  I  open  up  —  " 

"  The  gang  had  some  talk  about  cleaning  out  the 
bank  while  they  're  about  it,"  Bud  remembered  sud- 
denly. "  Can't  you  appoint  me  something,  or  hire  me 
as  a  guard  and  let  me  help  out?  How  many  men  do 
you  have  here  in  this  bank  ?  " 

"  Two,  except  when  the  president 's  in  his  office  in 
the  rear.  That 's  fine  of  you  to  oflfer.  We  've  been 
held  up,  once  —  and  they  cleaned  us  out  of  cash." 
Jimmy  turned  to  Mrs.  Hanson.  "  Mother,  can't  you 
run  over  and  have  Jess  come  and  swear  Mr.  Birnie  in 
as  a  deputy?  If  I  go,  or  he  goes,  someone  may  notice 
it  and  tip  the  gang  off." 

Mrs.  Hanson  hastily  deposited  the  baby  in  its  cradle 


200  Cow-Country 


and  went  to  call  "  Jess  ",  her  face  pink  with  excite- 
ment. 

"  You  're  lucky  you  stopped  at  her  house  instead i 
of  some  other  place,"  Jimmy  observed.  "  She  's  a 
corking  good  woman.  As  a  deputy  sheriff,  you  '11 
come  in  mighty  handy  if  they  do  try  anything,  Mr. 
Birnie  —  if  you  're  the  kind  of  a  man  you  look  to  be. 
I'll  bet  you  can  shoot.     Can  you?" 

"If  you  scare  me  badly  enough,  I  might  get  a. 
cramp  in  my  trigger  finger,"  Bud  confessed.  Jimmy 
grinned  and  went  back  to  considering  his  own  part. 

"  I  '11  cash  these  checks  for  you  the  first  thing  I  do. 
And  as  deputy  you  can  go  with  me.  I  '11  have  to  un- 
lock the  door  on  time,  and  if  they  mean  to  stop  pay- 
ment, and  clean  the  bank  too,  it  will  probably  be  done 
all  at  once.  It  has  been  a  year  since  they  bothered  us, 
so  they  may  need  a  little  change.  If  Jess  is  n't  busy  he 
may  stick  around." 

"  No  one  expects  him  to  round  up  the  gang,  I 
heard." 

"  No  one  expects  him  to  go  into  Cat  rock  Canyon 
after  them.  He  '11  round  them  up,  quick  enough,  if  he 
can  catch  them  far  enough  from  their  holes." 

Jess  returned  with  Mrs.  Hanson,  swore  in  a  new 
deputy,  eyed  Bud  curiously,  and  agreed  to  remain  hid- 
den across  the  road  from  the  bank  with  a  rifle.  He 
nodded  understandingly  when  Bud  warned  him  that 
the  looting  was  a  matter  of  hearsay  on  his  part,  and 
departed  with  an  awkward  compliment  to  Mrs.  Jim 
about  hoping  that  the  baby  was  going  to  look  like  her. 

Jim  lived  just  behind  the  bank,  and  a  high  board 
fence  between  the  two  buildings  served  to  hide  his 
coming  and  going.     But  Bud  took  off  his  hat  and 


The   Catrock   Gang         201 

walked  stooping, — by  special  request  of  Mrs.  Han- 
son —  to  make  sure  that  he  was  not  observed. 

"  I  think  I  '11  stand  out  in  front  of  the  window/* 
said  Bud  when  they  were  inside.  "  It  will  look  more 
natural,  and  if  any  of  these  fellows  show  up  I  'd  just 
as  soon  not  show  my  brand  the  first  thing." 

They  showed  up,  all  right,  within  two  minutes  of 
the  unlocking  of  the  bank  and  the  rolling  up  of  the 
shades.  Jeff  Hall  was  the  first  man  to  walk  in,  and 
he  stopped  short  when  he  saw  Bud  lounging  before 
the  teller's  window  and  the  cashier  busy  within.  Other 
men  were  straggling  up  on  the  porch,  and  two  of  them 
entered.  Jeff  walked  over  to  Bud,  who  shifted  his 
position  enough  to  bring  him  facing  Jeff,  whom  he 
did  not  trust  at  all. 

"  Mr.  Lawton,"  Jeff  began  hurriedly,  "  I  want  to 
stop  payment  on  a  check  this  young  feller  got  from 
me  by  fraud.  It 's  for  five  thousand  eight  hundred 
dollars,  and  I  notify  you  —  " 

"  Too  late,  Mr.  Hall.  I  have  already  accepted  the 
checks.  Where  did  the  fraud  come  in?  You  can 
bring  suit,  of  course,  to  recover." 

"  I  '11  tell  you,  Jimmy.  He  bet  that  my  horse 
could  n't  beat  Dave  Truman's  Boise.  A  good  many 
bet  on  the  same  thing.  '  But  my  horse  proved  to  have 
more  speed,  so  a  lot  of  them  are  sore."  Bud  chuckled 
as  other  Sunday  losers  came  straggling  in. 

"  Well,  it  *s  too  late.  I  have  honored  the  checks," 
Jimmy  said  crisply,  and  turned  to  hand  a  sealed  ma- 
nila  envelope  to  the  bookkeeper  with  whispered  in- 
structions. The  bookkeeper,  who  had  just  entered 
from  the  rear  of  the  office,  turned  on  his  heel  and  left 
again. 


2  02  Cow-Country 

Jeff  muttered  something  to  his  friends  and  wentt 
outside  as  if  their  business  were  done  for  the  day. 

"  I  gave  you  five  thousand  in  currency  and  the  bal- 
ance in  a  cashier's  check,"  Jimmy  whispered  through; 
the  wicket.  "  Sent  it  to  the  house.  We  don't  keep  a.. 
great  deal  —  ten  thousand  's  our  limit  in  cash,  and  L. 
don't  think  you  want  to  pack  gold  or  silver  —  "       m 

"  No,  I  did  n't.    I  'd  rather  —  "  ^ 

Two  men  came  in,  one  going  over  to  the  desk, 
where  he  apparently  wrote  a  check,  the  other  came 
straight  to  the  window.  Bud  looked  into  the  heavily 
bearded  face  of  a  man  who  had  the  eyes  of  Lew 
Morris.  He  shifted  his  position  a  little  so  that  he 
faced  the  man's  right  side.  The  one  at  the  desk  was 
glancing  slyly  over  his  shoulder  at  the  bookkeeper, 
who  had  just  returned  to  his  work. 

"  Can  you  change  this  twenty  so  I  can  get  seven 
dollars  and  a  quarter  out  of  it?"  asked  the  man  at 
the  window.  As  he  slid  the  bill  through  the  wicket 
he  started  to  sneeze,  and  reached  backward  —  for  his 
handkerchief,  apparently. 

"  Here  's  one,"  said  Bud.  "  Don't  sneeze  too  hard, 
old-timer,  or  you  're  liable  to  sneeze  your  whiskers 
all  off.    It 's  happened  before." 

Someone  outside  fired  a  shot  in  at  Bud,  clipping  his 
hatband  in  front.  At  the  sound  of  the  shot  the  whis- 
kered one  snatched  his  gun  out,  and  the  cashier  shot 
him.  Bud  had  sent  a  shot  through  the  outside  win- 
dow and  hit  somebody  —  whom,  he  did  not  know,  for 
he  had  no  time  to  look.  The  young  fellow  at  the  desk 
had  whirled,  and  was  pointing  a  gun  shakily,  first  at 
the  cashier  and  then  at  Bud.  Bud  fired  and  knocked 
the  gun  out  of  his  hand,  then  stepped  over  the  man  he 


The   Catrock   Gang  203 

suspected  was  Lew  and  caught  the  young  fellow  by 
the  wrist. 

''  You  're  Ed  Collier  —  by  your  eyes  and  your 
mouth,"  Bud  said  in  a  rapid  undertone.  **  I  'm  going 
to  get  you  out  of  this,  if  you  '11  do  what  I  say.  Will 
you?" 

*'  He  got  me  in  here,  honest,"  the  young  fellow 
quaked.  He  couldn't  be  more  than  nineteen,  Bud 
guessed  swiftly. 

"  Let  me  through,  Jimmy,"  Bud  ordered  hurriedly. 
"  You  got  the  man  that  put  up  this  job.  I  '11  take  the 
kid  out  the  back  way,  if  you  don't  mind." 

Jimmy  opened  the  steel-grilled  door  and  let  them 
through. 

"  Ed  Collier,"  he  said  in  a  tone  of  recognition.  "  I 
heard  he  was  trailing  —  " 

"  Forget  it,  Jimmy.  If  the  sheriff  asks  about  him, 
say  he  got  out.  Now,  Ed,  I  'm  going  to  take  you  over 
to  Mrs.  Hanson's.  She  '11  keep  an  eye  on  you  for  a 
while." 

Eddie  was  looking  at  the  dead  man  on  the  floor, 
and  trembling  so  that  he  did  not  attempt  to  reply ;  and 
by  way  of  Jimmy's  back  fence  and  the  widow  Hanson's 
barn  and  corral.  Bud  got  Eddie  safe  into  the  kitchen 
just  as  that  determined  lady  was  leaving  home  with  a 
shotgun  to  help  defend  the  honor  of  the  town. 

Bud  took  her  by  the  shoulder  and  told  her  what  he 
wanted  her  to  do.  "  He  's  Marian's  brother,  and  too 
young  to  be  with  that  gang.  So  keep  him  here,  safe 
and  out  of  sight,  until  I  come.  Then  I  '11  want  to 
borrow  your  horse.    Shall  I  tie  the  kid?  " 

"  And  me  an  able-bodied  woman  that  could  turn 
him  acrost  my  knee?  "     Mrs.  Hanson's  eyes  snapped. 


2  04  Cow-Country 

**  It 's  more  likely  the  boy  needs  his  breakfast.     Gee 
along  with  ye !  " 

Bud  got  along,  slipping  into  the  bank  by  the  rea 
door  and  taking  a  hand  in  the  desultory  firing  in  thi^ 
street.     The  sheriff  had  a  couple  of  men  ironed  am 
one  man  down  and  the  landlord  of  the  hotel  was  doinip 
a  great  deal  of  explaining  that  he  had  never  seen  thui 
bandits  before.    Just  by  way  of  stimulating  his  mem 
ory  Bud  threw  a  bullet  close  to  his  heels,  and  the  land 
lord  thereupon  grovelled  and  wept  while  he  proteste( 
his  innocence. 

"  He  's  a  damn  liar,  sheriff,"  Bud  called  across  th 
hoof-scarred  road.     "  He  was  talking  to  them  abou. 
eleven  o'clock  last  night.    There  were  three  that  chasecc 
me  into  town,  and  they  got  him  up  out  of  bed  to  fin( 
out  whether  I  'd  stopped  there.     I  hadn't,  luckily  fo 
me.    HI  had  he  'd  have  showed  them  the  way  to  m^- 
room,  and  he  'd  have  had  a  dead  boarder  this  morning 
Keep  right  on  shedding  tears,  you  old  cut-throat! 
was  sitting  on  the  court-house  porch,  last  night,  and  '. 
heard  every  word  that  passed  between  you  and  thti« 
Cat  rockers !  " 

"  I  've  been  suspicioning  here  was  where  they  go 
their  information  right  along,"  the  sheriff  commented 
and  slipped  the  handcuffs  on  the  landlord.  Investiga 
tion  proved  that  Jeff  Hall  and  his  friends  had  sud 
denly  decided  that  they  had  no  business  with  the  bank 
that  day,  and  had  mounted  and  galloped  out  of  towif 
when  the  first  shot  was  fired.  Which  simplified  mat; 
ters  a  bit  for  Bud. 

In  Jimmy  Lawton's  kitchen  he  received  his  money' 
and  when  the  prisoners  were  locked  up  he  saved  him- 
self some  trouble  with  the  sheriff  by  hunting  him  u| 


The   Catrock   Gang  205 


and  explaining  just  why  he  had  taken  the  Collier 
boy  into  custody. 

"  You  know  yourself  he 's  just  a  kid,  and  if  you 
send  him  over  the  road  he  's  a  criminal  for  life.  I 
believe  I  can  make  a  decent  man  of  him.  I  want  to 
try,  anyway.  So  you  just  leave  me  this  deputy's 
badge,  and  make  my  commission  regular  and  perma- 
nent, and  I  '11  keep  an  eye  on  him.  Give  me  a  paper 
so  I  can  get  a  requisition  and  bring  him  back  to  stand 
trial,  any  time  he  breaks  out.  I  '11  be  responsible  for 
him,  sheriff." 

"  And  who  in  blazes  are  you?  "  the  sheriff  inquired, 
with  a  grin  to  remove  the  sting  of  suspicion.  "  Name 
sounded  familiar,  too !  " 

'*  Bud  Birnie  of  the  Tomahawk,  down  near  Lara- 
mie.   Telegraph  Laramie  if  you  like  and  find  out  about 


me." 


"  Good  Lord !  I  know  the  Tomahawk  like  a  book !  " 
cried  the  sheriff.  "  And  you  're  Bob  Birnie's  boy ! 
Say !  D'  you  remember  dragging  into  camp  on  the 
summit  one  time  when  you  was  about  twelve  years  old 
—  been  hidin'  out  from  Injuns  about  three  days? 
Well,  say !  I  'm  the  feller  that  packed  you  into  the 
tent,  and  fed  yuh  when  yuh  come  to.  Remember  the 
time  I  rode  down  and  stayed  over  night  at  yore  place, 
the  time  Bill  Nye  come  down  from  his  prospect  hole 
up  in  the  Snowies,  bringin'  word  the  Injuns  was  up 
again?  "  The  sheriff  grabbed  Bud's  hand  and  held  it, 
shaking  it  up  and  down  now  and  then  to  emphasize  his 
words. 

"  Folks  called  you  Buddy,  then.  I  remember  yuh, 
helpin'  your  mother  cook  'n'  wash  dishes  for  us  fellers. 
I  kinda  felt  like  I  had  a  claim  on  yuh,  Buddy. 


2o6  Cow-Country 

"  Say,  Bill  Nye,  he  's  famous  now.    Writin'  bool^k 
full  of  jokes,  and  all  that.    He  always  was  a  comicci 
cuss.      Don't  you   remember  how  the  bunch   of  m 
laughed  at  him  when  he  drifted  in  about  dark,  hint 
and  four  burros  —  that  one  he  called  Boomerang,  tha 
he  named  his  paper  after  in  Laramie?    I  've  told  lot, 
•of  times  what  he  said  when  he  come  stoopin'  into  th;, 
kitchen  —  how  Colorou  had  sent  him  word  that  he  ^'\ 
give  Bill  just   four  sleeps  to  get  outa  there.     Aril 
*  Hell ! '  says  Bill.  '  I  did  n't  need  any  sleeps ! '  An'  wvj 
all  turned  to  and  cooked  a  hull  beef  yore  dad  haJ 
butchered  that  day  —  and  Bill  loaded  up  with  the  firs 
chunks  we  had  ready,  and  pulled  his  freight.    He  sur 
did  n't  need  any  sleeps  —  " 

"  Yes,  you  bet  I  remember.  Jesse  Cummings  u 
your  name.  I  sure  ought  to  remember  you,  for  yo  ■ 
and  your  partner  saved  my  life,  I  expect.  I  though 
I  'd  seen  you  before,  when  you  made  me  deputy.  Ho\ 
about  the  kid?  Can  I  have  him?  Lew  Morris,  th^ 
man  that  kept  him  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  law,  v 
dead,  I  heard  the  doctor  say.  Jimmy  got  him  whe:i 
lie  pulled  his  gun." 

"  Why,  yes  —  if  the  town  don't  git  onto  me  turnir 
him  loose,  I  guess  you  can  have  the  kid  for  all  I  care 
He  did  n't  take  any  part  in  the  holdup,  did  he 
Buddy?" 

"  He  was  over  by  the  customers'  desk  when  Le\^' 
started  to  hold  up  the  cashier." 

"  Well  I  got  enough  prisoners  so  I  guess  he  won' 
be  missed.  But  you  look  out  how  yuh  git  him  out 
town.  Better  wait  til  kinda  late  to-night.  I  sur^ 
would  like  to  see  him  git  a  show.  Them  two  Collie 
Icids  never  did  have  a  square  deal,  far  as  I  've  heard 


The   Catrock   Gang  207 

But  be  careful,  youngster.  I  want  another  term  off 
this  county  if  I  can  get  it.  Don't  go  get  me  in  bad." 
I  "  I  won't,"  Bud  promised  and  hurried  back  to  Mrs. 
iHanson's  house. 

i  That  estimable  lady  was  patting  butter  in  a  wooden 
jbowl  when  Bud  went  in.  She  turned  and  brushed  a 
(wisp  of  gray  hair  from  her  face  with  her  fore  arm 
bnd  sh-shed  him  into  silent  stepping,  motioning  toward 
an  inner  room.  Bud  tiptoed  and  looked,  saw  Ed  Col- 
lier fast  asleep,  swaddled  in  a  blanket,  and  grinne^!  his 
approval. 

i  He  made  sure  that  the  sleep  was  genuine,  also  that 
Ihe  blanket  swaddling  was  efficient.  Moreover,  he 
jdiscovered  that  Mrs.  Hanson  had  very  prudently  at- 
tached a  thin  wire  to  the  foot  of  the  blanket  cocoon, 
jhad  passed  the  wire  through  a  knot  hole  in  a  cupboard 
jset  into  the  partition,  and  to  a  sheep  bell  which  she 
|no  doubt  expected  to  ring  upon  provocation  —  such 
las  a  prisoner  struggling  to  release  his  feet  from  a  gray 
iblanket  fastened  with  many  large  safety  pins. 
I  "  He  went  right  to  sleep,  the  minute  I  'd  fed  him 
land  tied  him  snug,"  Mrs.  Hanson  murmured.  "  He 
was  a  sulky  divvle  and  would  n't  give  a  decent  an- 
swer to  me  till  he  had  his  stomach  filled.  From  the 
way  he  waded  into  the  ham  and  eggs,  I  guess  a  square 
meal  and  him  has  been  strangers  for  a  long  time." 

Sleep  and  Ed  Collier  must  have  been  strangers  also, 
for  Bud  attended  the  inquest  of  Lew  Morris,  visited 
afterwards  with  Sheriff  Cummings,  who  was  full  of 
reminiscence  and  wanted  to  remind  Bud  of  everything 
that  had  ever  happened  within  his  knowledge  during 
the  time  when  they  had  been  neighbors  with  no  more 
than  forty  miles  or  so  between  them.   The  sheriff  offered 


2o8  Cow-Country 

Bud  a  horse  and  saddle,  which  he  promised  to  deli 
to  the  widow's  corral  after  the  citizens  of  Crater  ha( 
gone  to  bed.  And  while  he  did  not  say  that  it  wouk 
be  Ed's  horse,  Bud  guessed  shrewdly  that  it  would 
After  that,  Bud  carefully  slit  the  lining  of  his  boots 
tucked  money  and  checks  into  the  opening  he  hac 
made,  and  did  a  very  neat  repair  job. 

All  that  while  Ed  Collier  slept.    When  Bud  returnee 
for  his  supper  Ed  had  evidently  just  awakened  anc 
wa?  ^ying  on  his  back  biting  his  lip  while  he  eyed  tht 
wire  that  ran  from  his  feet  to  the  parting  of  a  pair  ol 
calico  curtains.    He  did  not  see  Bud,  who  was  watch- 
ing him  through  a  crack  in  the  door  at  the  head  of  thtii 
bed.     Ed  was  plainly  puzzled  at  the  wire  and  a  bin 
resentful.     He  lifted  his  feet  until  the  wire  was  welj 
slackened,  held  them  poised  for  a  minute  and  deliber< 
ately  brought  them  down  hard  on  the  floor. 

The  result  was  all  that  he  could  possibly  have  expectedJ 
Somewhere  was  a  vicious  clang,  the  rattle  of  a  tin  pan 
and  the  approaching  outcry  of  a  woman.  Bud  re- 
treated to  the  kitchen  to  view  the  devastation  and 
discovered  that  a  sheep  bell  not  too  clean  had  been 
dislodged  from  a  nail  and  dragged  through  one  pan 
of  milk  into  another,  where  it  was  rolling  on  its  edge, 
stirring  the  cream  that  had  risen.  As  Mrs.  Hanson 
rushed  in  from  the  back  yard.  Bud  returned  to  the 
angry  captive's  side. 

"  I  've  got  him  safe,"  he  soothed  Mrs.  Hanson  and 
her  shotgun.  "  He  just  had  a  nightmare.  Perhaps 
that  breakfast  you  fed  him  was  too  hearty.  I  '11  look 
after  him  now,  Mrs.  Hanson.  We  won't  be  bothering 
you  long,  anyway." 

Mrs.  Hanson  was  talking  to  herself  when  she  went 


The   Catrock   Gang  209 

to  her  milk  pans,  and  Bud  released  Eddie  Collier,  guess- 
ing how  humiliating  it  must  be  to  be  a  young  fellow 
pinned  into  a  blanket  with  safety  pins,  and  knowing 
from  certain  experiences  of  his  own  that  humiliation 
is  quite  as  apt  to  breed  trouble  as  any  other  emotion. 

Eddie  sat  up  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  and  stared  at 
Bud.  His  eyes  were  like  Marian's  in  shape  and  color, 
but  their  expression  was  suspicion,  defiance,  and  watch- 
fulness blended  into  one  compelling  stare  that  spelled 
Fear.  Or  so  Bud  read  it,  having  trapped  animals  of 
various  grades  ever  since  he  had  caught  the  ''  hawn- 
toe  '\  and  seen  that  look  many,  many  times  in  the  eyes 
of  his  catch. 

"  How  'd  you  like  to  take  a  trip  with  me  —  as  a 
kind  of  a  partner?"  Bud  began  carelessly,  pulling  a 
splinter  off  the  homemade  bed  for  which  Mrs.  Hanson 
would  not  thank  him  —  and  beginning  to  whittle  it  to 
a  sharp  point  aimlessly,  as  men  have  a  w^ay  of  doing 
when  their  minds  are  at  work  upon  a  problem  which 
requires  much  constructive  thinking. 

"  Pardner  in  what  ?  "  Eddie  countered  sullenly. 

"  Pardner  in  what  I  am  planning  to  do  to  make 
money.  I  can  make  money,  you  know  —  and  stay  on 
friendly  terms  with  the  sheriff,  too.  That  *s  better 
than  your  bunch  has  been  able  to  do.  I  don't  mind 
telling  you  —  it 's  stale  news,  I  guess  —  that  I  cleaned 
up  close  to  twelve  thousand  dollars  in  less  than  a  month, 
off  a  working  capital  of  three  thoroughbred  horses  and 
about  sixty  dollars  cash.  And  I  '11  add  the  knowledge 
that  I  was  playing  against  men  that  would  slip  a  cold 
deck  if  they  played  solitaire,  they  were  so  crooked. 
And  if  that  doesn't  recommend  me  sufficiently,  I'll 
say  I  'm  a  deputy  sheriff  of  Crater  County,  and  Jesse 


2IO  Cow-Country 

Cummings  knows  my  past.  I  want  to  hire  you  to  go 
with  me  and  make  some  money,  and  I  '11  pay  you  forty 
a  month  and  five  per  cent  bonus  on  my  profits  at  the 
end  of  two  years.  The  first  year  may  not  show  any 
profits,  but  the  second  year  will.  How  does  it  sound 
to  you?" 

He  had  been  rolling  a  cigarette,  and  now  he  offered 
the  "  makings  "  to  Ed,  who  accepted  them  mechani- 
cally, his  eyes  still  staring  hard  at  Bud.  He  glanced 
toward  the  door  and  the  one  little  window  where  wild 
cucumber  vines  were  thickly  matted,  and  Bud  inter- 
preted his  glance. 

"Lew  and  another  Cat  rocker  —  the  one  that  tried 
to  rope  me  down  in  the  Sinks  —  are  dead,  and  three 
more  are  in  jail.  Business  won't  be  very  brisk  with 
the  Catrock  gang  for  a  while." 

"If  you  're  trying  to  bribe  me  into  squealing  on  the 
rest,  you  're  a  damn  fool,"  said  Eddie  harshly.  "  I 
ain't  the  squealing  kind.  You  can  lead  me  over  to 
jail  first.  I  'd  rather  take  my  chances  with  the  others." 
He  was  breathing  hard  when  he  finished. 

"Rather  than  work  for  me?"  Bud  sliced  off  the 
sharp  point  which  he  had  so  carefully  whittled,  and 
began  to  sharpen  a  new  one.  Eddie  watched  himi 
fascinatedly. 

"  Rather  than  squeal  on  the  bunch.  There  's  no 
other  reason  in  God's  world  why  you  'd  make  me  an 
offer  like  that.  I  ain't  a  fool  quite,  if  my  head  does 
run  up  to  a  peak." 

Bud  chewed  his  lip,  whittled,  and  finally  threw  the 
splinter  away.  When  he  turned  toward  Eddie  his 
eyes  were  shiny. 

"  Kid,  you  're  breaking  your  sister's  heart,  follow- 


The   Catrock   Gang         211 

ing  this  trail.  I  'd  like  to  see  you  give  her  a  chance 
to  speak  your  name  without  blinking  back  tears.  I  'd 
like  to  see  her  smile  all  the  way  from  her  dimples  to 
her  eyes  when  she  thinks  of  you.  That 's  why  I  made 
the  offer  —  that  and  because  I  think  you  'd  earn  your 
wages." 

Eddie  looked  at  him,  looked  away,  staring  vacantly 
at  the  wall.  His  eyelashes  were  blinking  very  fast, 
his  lip  began  to  tremble.  "  You  —  I  —  I  never  wanted 
to  —  I  ain't  worth  saving  —  oh,  hell!  I  never  had  a 
chance  before  —  "  He  dropped  sidewise  on  the  bed, 
buried  his  face  in  his  arms  and  sobbed  hoarsely,  like 
the  boy  he  was. 


CHAPTER    NINETEEN 
Bud  Rides  Through  Catrock  and  Loses  Marian 

"  You  ''lL  have  to  show  me  the  trail,  pardner,"  said 
Bud  when  they  were  making  their  way  cautiously  out 
of  town  by  way  of  the  tin  can  suburbs.  "  I  could 
figure  out  the  direction  all  right,  and  make  it  by  morn- 
ing; but  seeing  you  grew  up  here,  I  '11  let  you  pilot." 

"  You  '11  have  to  tell  me  where  you  want  to  go, 
first,"  said  Eddie  with  a  good  deal  of  suUenness  still 
in  his  voice. 

''  Little  Lost."  Without  intending  to  do  so.  Bud 
put  a  good  deal  of  meaning  in  his  voice. 

Eddie  did  not  say  anything,  but  veered  to  the  right, 
climbing  higher  on  the  slope  than  Bud  would  have 
gone.  "  We  can  take  the  high  trail,"  he  volunteered 
when  they  stopped  to  rest  the  horses.  '*  It  takes  up 
over  the  summit  and  down  Burroback  Valley.  It 's 
longer,  but  the  stage  road  edges  along  the  Sinks  and  — 
it  might  be  rough  going,  after  we  get  down  a  piece." 

"  How  about  the  side-hill  trail,  through  Catrock 
Peak?" 

Eddie  turned  sharply.  In  the  starlight  Bud  was 
watching  him,  wondering  what  he  was  thinking. 

"  How  'd  you  get  next  to  any  side-hill  trail  ?  "  Eddie 
asked  after  a  minute.    "  You  been  over  it?  " 


Bud   Rides   Through    Catrock      213 

"  I  surely  have.  And  I  expect  to  go  again,  to-night. 
A  young  fellow  about  your  size  is  going  to  act  as 
pilot,  and  get  me  to  Little  Lost  as  quick  as  possible. 
It  '11  be  daylight  at  that." 

"If  you  got  another  day  coming,  it  better  be  before 
daylight  we  get  there,"  Eddie  retorted  glumly.  He 
hesitated,  turned  his  horse  and  led  the  way  down  the 
slope,  angling  down  away  from  the  well-travelled  trail 
over  the  summit  of  Gold  Gap. 

That  hesitation  told  Bud,  without  words,  how  tenu- 
ous w^as  his  hold  upon  Eddie.  He  possessed  sufficient 
imagination  to  know  that  his  own  carefully  disciplined 
past,  sheltered  from  actual  contact  with  evil,  had  given 
him  little  enough  by  which  to  measure  the  soul  of  a 
youth  like  Eddie  Collier. 

How  long  Eddie  had  supped  and  slept  with  thieves 
and  murderers,  Bud  could  only  guess.  From  the  little 
that  Marian  had  told  him,  Eddie's  father  had  been  one 
of  the  gang.  At  least,  she  had  plainly  stated  that  he 
and  Lew  had  been  partners  —  though  Collier  might 
have  been  ranching  innocently  enough,  and  ignorant 
of  Lew's  real  nature. 

At  all  events,  Eddie  was  a  lad  well  schooled  in 
iniquity  such  as  the  wilderness  fosters  in  sturdy  fash- 
ion. Wide  spaces  give  room  for  great  virtues  and 
great  wickedness.  Bud  felt  that  he  was  betting  large 
odds  on  an  unknown  quantity.  He  was  placing 
himself  literally  in  the  hands  of  an  acknowledged  Cat- 
rocker,  because  of  the  clean  gaze  of  a  pair  of  eyes, 
the  fine  curve  of  the  mouth. 

For  a  long  time  they  rode  without  speech.  Eddie 
in  the  lead,  Bud  following,  alert  to  every  little  move- 
ment in  the  sage,  every  little  sound  of  the  night.    That 


2  14  Cow-Country 

was  what  we  rather  naively  call  "  second  nature ", 
a  habit  bom  of  Bud's  growing  years  amongst  dangers 
which  every  pioneer  family  knows.  Alert  he  was,  yet 
deeply  dreaming;  a  tenuous  dream  too  sweet  to  come 
true,  he  told  himself;  a  dream  which  he  never  dared  to 
dream  until  the  cool  stars,  and  the  little  night  wind 
began  to  whisper  to  him  that  Marian  was  free  from 
the  brute  that  had  owned  her.  He  scarcely  dared  think 
of  it  yet.  Shyly  he  remembered  how  he  had  held  her 
hand  to  give  her  courage  while  they  rode  in  darkness ; 
her  poor  work-roughened  little  hand,  that  had  been 
cold  when  he  took  it  first,  and  had  warmed  in  his  clasp. 
He  remembered  how  he  had  pressed  her  hands  together 
when  they  parted  —  why,  surely  it  was  longer  ago  than 
last  night!  —  and  had  kissed  them  reverently  as  he 
would  kiss  the  fingers  of  a  queen. 

"  Hell 's  too  good  for  Lew  Morris,"  he  blurted  un- 
expectedly, the  thought  of  Marian's  bruised  cheek 
coming  like  a  blow. 

"Want  to  go  and  tell  him  so?  If  you  don't  yuh 
better  shut  up,"  Eddie  whispered  fierce  warning. 
"  You  need  n't  think  all  the  Catrockers  are  dead  or  in 
jail.  They  's  a  few  left  and  they  'd  kill  yuh  quicker  'n 
they  'd  take  a  drink." 

Bud,  embarrassed  at  the  emotion  behind  his  state- 
ment, rather  than  ashamed  of  the  remark  itself,  made 
no  reply. 

Much  as  Eddie  desired  silence,  he  himself  pulled  up 
and  spoke  again  when  Bud  had  ridden  close. 

"  I  guess  you  come  through  the  Gap,"  he  whis- 
pered. "  They  's  a  shorter  way  than  that  —  Sis  don't 
know  it.  It 's  one  the  bunch  uses  a  lot  —  if  they 
catch  us  —  I  can  save  my  hide  by  makin'  out  I  led  you 


Bud   Rides   Through   Catrock      215 

into  a  trap.     You  '11  get  yours,  anyway.     How  much 
sand  you  got?  " 

Bud  leaned  and  spat  into  the  darkness.  "  Not  much. 
Maybe  enough  to  get  through  this  scary  short-cut  of 
yours." 

"  You  tell  the  truth  when  you  say  scary.  It 's  so 
darn  crazy  to  go  down  Catrock  Canyon  maybe  they 
won't  think  we  'd  tackle  it.  And  if  they  catch  us,  I  '11 
say  I  led  yuh  in  —  and  then  —  say,  I  'm  kinda  bettin' 
on  your  luck.  The  way  you  cleaned  up  on  them  horses, 
maybe  luck  '11  stay  with  you.  And  I  '11  help  all 
I  can,  honest." 

"  Fine."  Bud  reached  over  and  closed  his  fingers 
around  Eddie's  thin,  boyish  arm.  "  You  did  n't  tell 
me  yet  why  the  other  trail  is  n't  good  enough." 

"  I  heard  a  sound  in  the  Gap  tunnel,  that 's  why. 
You  maybe  did  n't  know  what  it  was.  I  know  them 
echoes  to  a  f are-ye-well.  Somebody 's  there  —  likely 
posted  waiting."  He  was  motionless  for  a  space,  Hs- 
tening. 

"Get  off  —  easy.  Take  off  your  spurs."  Eddie 
was  down,  whispering  eagerly  to  Bud.  "  There  's  a 
draft  of  air  from  the  blow-holes  that  comes  this  way. 
Sound  comes  outa  there  a  lot  easier  than  it  goes  in. 
Sis  and  I  found  that  out.  Lead  your  horse  —  if  they 
jump  us,  give  him  a  lick  with  the  quirt  and  hide  in 
the  brush." 

Like  Indians  the  two  made  their  way  down  a  ram- 
bling slope  not  far  from  where  Marian  had  guided 
Bud.  To-night,  however,  Eddie  led  the  way  to  the 
right  instead  of  the  left,  which  seemed  to  Bud  a  direc- 
tion that  would  bring  them  down  Oldman  creek,  that 
dry  river  bed,  and  finally,  perhaps,  to  the  race  track. 


2 1 6  Cow-Country 

Eddie  never  did  explain  just  how  he  made  his  way- 
through  a  maze  of  water-cut  pillars  and  heaps  of  sand- 
stone so  bewildering  that  Bud  afterward  swore  that 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  was  leading  Sunfish,  he  fre- 
quently found  himself  at  that  patient  animal's  tail, 
where  they  were  doubled  around  some  freakish  pillar. 
Frequently  Eddie  stopped  and  peered  past  his  horse 
to  make  sure  that  Bud  had  not  lost  the  trail.  And 
finally,  because  he  was  no  doubt  worried  over  that 
possibility,  he  knotted  his  rope  to  his  saddle  horn, 
brought  back  a  length  that  reached  a  full  pace  behind 
the  tail  of  the  horse,  and  placed  the  end  in  Bud's  hand. 

"  If  yuh  lose  me  you  're  a  goner,"  he  whispered. 
"  So  hang  onto  that,  no  matter  what  comes.  And  don't 
yuh  speak  to  me.  This  is  hell's  corral  and  we  're 
walking  the  top  rail  right  now."  He  made  sure  that 
Bud  had  the  loop  in  his  hand,  then  slipped  back  past 
his  horse  and  went  on,  walking  more  quickly. 

Bud  admitted  afterwards  that  he  was  perfectly  will- 
ing to  be  led  like  a  tame  squirrel  around  the  top  of 
"  hell's  corral  ",  whatever  that  was.  All  that  Bud  saw 
was  an  intricate  assembly  of  those  terrific  pillars,  whose 
height  he  did  not  know,  since  he  had  no  time  to  glance 
up  and  estimate  the  distance.  There  was  no  method,  no 
channel  worn  through  in  anything  that  could  be  called  a 
line.  Whatever  primeval  torrent  had  honeycombed 
the  ledge  had  left  it  so  before  ever  its  waters  had 
formed  a  straight  passage  through.  How  Eddie  knew 
the  way  he  could  only  conjecture,  remembering  how 
he  himself  had  ridden  devious  trails  down  on  the  Tom- 
ahawk range  when  he  was  a  boy.  It  rather  hurt  his 
pride  to  realize  that  never  had  he  seen  anything  ap- 
proaching this  madman's  trail. 


Bud   Rides   Through   Catrock      217 

Without  warning  they  plunged  into  darkness  again. 
Darkness  so  black  that  Bud  knew  they  had  entered 
another  of  those  mysterious,  subterranean  passages 
which  had  created  such  names  as  abounded  in  the 
country :  the  "  Sinks  ",  "  Little  Lost  ",  and  Sunk  River 
itself  which  disappeared  mysteriously.  He  was  be- 
ginning to  wonder  with  a  grim  kind  of  humor  if  he 
himself  was  not  about  to  follow  the  example  of  the 
rivers  and  disappear,  when  the  soft  padding  of  their 
footfalls  blurred  under  the  whistling  of  wind.  Fine 
particles  of  sand  stung  him,  a  blast  full  against  him 
halted  him  for  a  second.  But  the  rope  pulled  steadily 
and  he  went  on,  half  dragged  into  starlight  again. 

They  were  in  a  canyon;  deep,  sombre  in  its  night 
shadows,  its  width  made  known  to  him  by  the  strip  of 
starlight  overhead.  Directly  before  them,  not  more 
than  a  hundred  yards,  a  light  shone  through  a  window. 

The  rope  slackened  in  his  hands,  and  Eddie  slipped 
back  to  him  shivering  a  little  as  Bud  discovered  when 
he  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  I  guess  I  better  tie  yuh  —  but  it  won't  be  so  yuh 
can't  shoot.  Get  on,  and  let  me  tie  your  feet  into  the 
stirrups.  I  —  I  guess  maybe  we  can  get  past,  all  right 
—  I  '11  try  —  I  want  to  go  and  take  that  job  you  said 
you  'd  give  me !  " 

"What's  the  matter,  son?  Is  that  where  the  Cat- 
rockers  hang  out  ?  "  Bud  swung  into  the  saddle.  "  I 
trust  you,  kid.     You  're  her  brother." 

''I  —  I  want  to  live  like  Sis  wants  me  to.  But  I  've 
got  to  tie  yuh,  Mr.  Birnie,  and  that  looks —  But 
they  'd  k —  you  don't  know  how  they  kill  traitors.  I 
saw  one  —  "  He  leaned  against  Bud's  leg,  one  hand 
reaching  up  to  the  saddle  horn  and  gripping  it  in  a 


2 1 8  Cow-Country 

passing  frenzy.  "If  you  say  so,"  he  whispered  rap-- 
idly,  "  we  '11  sneak  up  and  shoot  'em  through  the  win- 
dow before  they  get  a  chance  —  " 

Bud  reached  out  his  hand  and  patted  Eddie  on  the 
shoulder.     "  That  job  of  yours  don't  call  for  any  kill- 
ing we  can  avoid,"  he  said.     "  Go  ahead  and  tie  me. 
No  use  of  wasting  lead  on  two  men  when  one  will  do. 
It 's  all  right.     I  trust  you,  pardner." 

Eddie's  shoulders  stiffened.  He  stood  up,  looked 
toward  the  light  and  gripped  Bud's  hand.  "  I  thought 
they  'd  be  asleep  —  what  was  home,"  he  said.  "  We 
got  to  ride  past  the  cabin  to  get  out  through  another 
water-wash.  But  you  take  your  coat  and  tie  your 
horse's  feet,  and  I  '11  tie  mine.  I  —  can't  tie  you,  Mr. 
Birnie.     We  '11  chance  it  together." 

Bud  did  not  say  anything  at  all,  for  which  Eddie 
seemed  grateful.  They  muffled  eight  hoofs,  rode  across 
the  canyon's  bottom  and  passed  the  cabin  so  closely 
that  the  light  of  a  smoky  lantern  on  a  table  was  plainly 
visible  to  Bud,  as  was  the  shaggy  profile  of  a  man 
who  sat  with  his  arms  folded,  glowering  over  a  pipe. 
He  heard  nothing.  Bud  halted  Sunfish  and  looked 
again  to  make  sure,  while  Eddie  beckoned  frantically. 
They  went  on  undisturbed  —  the  Catrockers  kept  no 
dogs. 

They  passed  a  couple  of  corrals,  rode  over  springy 
sod  where  Bud  dimly  discerned  hay  stubble.  Eddie 
let  down  a  set  of  bars,  replaced  them  carefully,  and 
they  crossed  another  meadow.  It  struck  Bud  that  the 
Catrockers  were  fairly  well  entrenched  in  their  can- 
yon, with  plenty  of  horse  feed  at  least. 

They  followed  a  twisting  trail  along  the  canyon's 
wall,  rode  into  another  pit  of  darkness,  came  out  into 


Bud    Rides   Through   Catrock      219 

a  sandy  stretch  that  seemed  hazily  familiar  to  Bud. 
They  crossed  this,  dove  into  the  bushes  following  a 
dim  trail,  and  in  ten  minutes  Eddie's  horse  backed 
suddenly  against  Sunfish's  nose.  Bud  stood  in  his 
stirrups,  reins  held  firmly  in  his  left  hand,  and  in  his 
right  his  six-shooter  with  the  hammer  lifted,  ready  to 
snap  down. 

A  tall  figure  stepped  away  from  the  peaked  rocks  and 
paused  at  Bud's  side. 

"  I  been  waiting  for  Marian,"  he  said  bluntly.  "  You 
know  anything  about  her  ?  " 

"  She  turned  back  last  night  after  she  had  shown 
me  the  way."  Bud's  throat  went  dry.  "  Did  they 
miss  her  ?  "    He  leaned  aggressively. 

"  Not  till  breakfast  time,  they  did  n't.  I  was  wait- 
ing here,  most  all  night  —  except  right  after  you  folks 
left.  She  was  n't  missed,  and  I  never  flagged  her  — 
and  she  ain't  showed  up  yet!  " 

Bud  sat  there  stunned,  trying  to  think  what  might 
have  happened.  Those  dark  passages  through  the 
mountains  —  the  ledge  —  "  Ed,  you  know  that  trail 
she  took  me  over?  She  was  coming  back  that  way. 
She  could  get  lost  —  " 

"No  she  couldn't  —  not  Sis.  If  her  horse  didn't 
act  the  fool  —  what  horse  was  it  she  rode  ?  "  Ed 
turned  to  Jerry  as  if  he  would  know. 

"  Boise,"  Bud  spoke  quickly,  as  though  seconds  were 
precious.     "  She  said  he  knew  the  way." 

"  He  sure  ought  to,"  Eddie  replied  emphatically. 
"  Boise  belongs  to  Sis,  by  rights.  The  mare  got  killed 
and  Dad  gave  him  to  Sis  when  he  was  a  suckin'  colt, 
and  Sis  raised  him  on  cow's  milk  and  broke  him  her- 
self.    She  rode  him  all  over.    Lew  took  and  sold  him 


2  20  Cow-Country 

to  Dave,  and  gambled  the  money,  and  Sis  never  signed 
no  bill  of  sale.  They  could  n't  make  her.  Sis  has  got 
spunk,  once  you  stir  her  up.  She  '11  tackle  anything. 
She  's  always  claimed  Boise  is  hers.  Boise  knows  the 
Gap  like  a  book.  Sis  could  n't  get  off  the  trail  if  she 
rode  him.'' 

"  Something  happened,  then,"  Bud  muttered  stub- 
bornly. "  Four  men  came  through  behind  us,  and  we 
waited  out  in  the  dark  to  let  them  pass.  Then  she  sent 
me  down  to  the  creek-bottom,  and  she  turned  back. 
If  they  got  her  —  "  He  turned  Sunfish  in  the  narrow 
brush  trail.  "  She  's  hurt,  or  they  got  her  —  I  'm 
^oing  back !  "  he  said  grimly. 

"  Hell !  you  can't  do  any  good  alone,"  Eddie  pro- 
tested, coming  after  him.  "  We  '11  go  look  for  her, 
Mr.  Birnie,  but  we  've  got  to  have  something  so  we 
can  see.    H  Jerry  could  dig  up  a  couple  of  lanterns  —  " 

"  You  wait.  I  'm  coming  along,"  Jerry  called 
guardedly.    "  I  '11  bring  lanterns." 

To  Bud  that  time  of  waiting  was  torment.  He  had 
faced  danger  and  tragedy  since  he  could  toddle,  and 
fear  had  never  overridden  the  titillating  sense  of  ad- 
venture. But  then  the  danger  had  been  for  himself. 
Now  terror  conjured  pictures  whose  horror  set  him 
trembling.  Twenty-four  hours  and  more  had  passed 
since  he  had  kissed  Marian's  hand  and  let  her  go  —  to 
what?  The  inky  blackness  of  those  tunnelled  caverns 
in  the  Gap  confronted  his  mind  like  a  nightmare.  He 
could  not  speak  of  it  —  he  dared  not  think  of  it,  and 
yet  he  must. 

Jerry  came  on  horseback,  with  three  unlighted  lan- 
terns held  in  a  cluster  by  their  wire  handles.  Eddie 
immediately  urged  his  horse  into  the  brushy  edge  of 


Bud   Rides   Through   Catrock    221 

the  trail  so  that  he  might  pass  Bud  and  take  the  lead. 
"You  sure  made  quick  time/'  he  remarked  approv- 
ingly to  Jerry. 

"  I  raided  Dave's  cache  of  whiskey  or  I  'd  have  been 
here  quicker,"  Jerry  explained.  "We  might  need 
some." 

Bud  gritted  his  teeth.  "Ride,  why  don't  yuh?" 
he  urged  Eddie  harshly.  "What  the  hell  ails  that 
horse  of  yours?    You  got  him  hobbled?  " 

Eddie  glanced  back  over  his  bobbing  shoulder  as 
his  horse  trotted  along  the  blind  trail  through  the 
brush.  "  This  here  ain't  no  race  track,"  he  expostu- 
lated. "  We  '11  make  it  quicker  without  no  broken 
legs." 

There  was  justice  in  his  protest  and  Bud  said  noth- 
ing. But  Sunfish's  head  bumped  the  tail  of  Eddie's 
horse  many  times  during  that  ride.  Once  in  the  Gap, 
with  a  lighted  lantern  in  his  rein  hand  and  his  six- 
shooter  in  the  other  —  because  it  was  ticklish  riding, 
in  there  with  lights  revealing  them  to  anyone  who 
might  be  coming  through  —  he  was  content  to  go 
slowly,  peering  this  way  and  that  as  he  rode. 

Once  Eddie  halted  and  turned  to  speak  to  them. 
"  I  know  Boise  would  n't  leave  the  trail.  If  Sis  had  to 
duck  off  and  hide  from  somebody,  he  'd  come  back  to 
the  trail.  Loose,  he  'd  do  that.  Sis  and  I  used  to  ex- 
plore around  in  here  just  for  fun,  and  kept  it  for  our 
secret  till  Lew  found  out.  She  always  rode  Boise. 
I  'm  dead  sure  he  'd  bring  her  out  all  right." 

"  She  has  n't  come  out  —  yet.  Go  on,"  said  Bud, 
and  Eddie  rode  forward  obediently. 

Three  hours  it  took  them  to  search  the  various 
passages  where  Eddie  thought  it  possible  that  Marian 


2  22  Cow-Country 

had  turned  aside.  Bud  saw  that  the  trail  through  was 
safe  as  any  such  trail  could  be,  and  he  wondered  at 
the  nerve  and  initiative  of  the  girl  and  the  boy  who 
had  explored  the  place  and  found  vv^here  certain  queer 
twists  and  turns  would  lead.  Afterwards  he  learned 
that  Marian  was  twelve  and  Eddie  ten  when  first  they 
had  hidden  there  from  Indians,  and  they  had  been  five 
years  in  finding  where  every  passage  led.  Also,  in 
daytime  the  place  was  not  so  fearsome,  since  sunlight 
slanted  down  into  many  a  passageway  through  the 
**  blow-holes  "  high  above. 

"  She  ain't  here.  I  knew  she  was  n't,"  Eddie  an- 
nounced when  the  final  tunnel  let  them  into  the  graying 
light  of  dawn  beyond  the  Peak. 

"  In  that  case  —  "  Bud  glanced  from  him  to  Jerry, 
who  was  blowing  out  his  lantern. 

Jerry  let  down  the  globe  carefully,  at  the  same  time 
glancing  soberly  at  Bud.  "  The  kid  knows  better  than 
I  do  what  would  happen  if  Lew  met  up  with  her  and 
Boise." 

Eddie  shook  his  head  miserably,  his  eyes  fixed  help- 
lessly upon  Bud.  "  Lew  never,  Mr.  Birnie.  I  was 
with  him  every  minute  from  dark  till  —  till  the  cashier 
shot  him.  We  come  up  the  way  I  took  you  through 
the  canyon.  Lew  never  knew  she  was  gone  any  more 
than  I  did." 

Jerry  bit  his  lip.  "  Kid,  what  if  the  gang  run  acrost 
her,  knowing  Lew  was  dead  ?  "  he  grated.  "  And  her 
on  Boise?  The  word's  out  that  Bud  stole  Boise. 
Dave  and  the  boys  rode  out  to  round  him  up  —  and  they 
ain't  done  it,  so  they  're  still  riding  —  we  '11  hope.  Kid, 
you  know  damn  well  your  gang  would  double-cross 
Dave  in  a  minute,  now  Lew  's  killed.    If  they  got  hold 


Bud   Rides   Through   Catrock    223 

of  the  horse,  do  yuh  think  they  'd  turn  him  over  to 
Dave?" 

''  No,  you  bet  your  life  they  would  n't!  "  Eddie  re- 
torted. 

"  And  what  about  herf "'  Bud  cut  in  with  ominous 
calm.  "  She  's  your  sister,  kid.  Would  you  be  worried 
if  you  knew  they  had  her  and  the  horse?  " 

Eddie  gulped  and  looked  away.  "  They  would  n't 
hurt  her  unless  they  knew  't  Lew  was  dead,"  he  said. 
"  And  them  that  went  to  Crater  was  killed  or  jailed, 
so  —  "  He  hesitated.  "  It  looked  to  me  like  Anse 
was  setting  up  waiting  for  the  bunch  to  get  back  from 
Crater.  He  —  he  's  always  jumpy  when  they  go  off 
and  stay,  and  it  'd  be  just  like  him  to  set  there  and  wait 
till  daylight.  It  looks  to  me,  Mr.  Birnie,  like  him  and 
—  and  the  rest  don't  know  yet  that  the  Crater  job 
was  a  fizzle.  They  would  n't  think  of  such  a  thing  as 
taking  Sis,  or  Boise  either,  unless  they  knew  Lew  was 
dead." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  that?  "  Bud  had  him  in  a  grip 
that  widened  the  boy's  eyes  with  something  approach-^ 
ing  fear. 

"  Yes  sir,  Mr.  Birnie,  I  'm  sure.  What  did  n't  go 
f  to  Crater  stayed  in  camp  —  or  was  gone  on  some  other 
trip.  No,  I  'm  sure!  "  He  jerked  away  with  sudden 
indignation  at  Bud's  disbelief.  "  Say !  Do  you  think 
I  'm  bad  enough  to  let  my  sister  get  into  trouble  with 
the  Catrockers  ?  I  know  they  never  got  her.  More  'n 
likely  it 's  Dave." 

"  Dave  went  up  Burroback  Valley,"  Jerry  stated 
flatly.  "  Him  and  the  boys  was  n't  on  this  side  the 
ridge.  They  had  it  sized  up  that  Bud  might  go  from 
Crater  straight  across  into  Black  Rim,  and  they  rode 


2  24  Cow-Country 


up  to  catch  him  as  he  comes  back  across."  Jerry  grinned! 
a  little.  "  They  wanted  that  money  you  peeled  off  the 
crowd  Sunday,  Bud.  They  was  willing  you  should 
get  to  Crater  and  cash  them  checks  before  they  over- 
hauled yuh  and  strung  yuh  up." 

"  You  don't  suppose  they  'd  hurt  Marian  if  they 
found  her  with  the  horse?  She  might  have  followed; 
along  to  Crater  —  " 

"  She  never,"  Eddie  contradicted.  And  Jerry  de- 
clared in  the  same  breath,  "  She  'd  be  too  much  afraid 
of  Lew.  No,  if  they  found  her  with  the  horse  they  'd' 
take  him  away  from  her  and  send  her  back  on  another 
one  to  do  the  kitchen  work,"  he  conjectured  with  some 
contempt.  "If  they  found  you  without  the  horse  — 
well  —  men  have  been  hung  on  suspicion.  Bud. 
Money  's  something  everybody  wants,  and  there  ain't 
a  man  in  the  valley  but  what  has  figured  your  winnings 
down  to  the  last  two-bit  piece.  It 's  just  a  runnin' 
match  now  to  see  what  bunch  gets  to  yuh  first." 

"  Oh,  the  money!  I  'd  give  the  whole  of  it  to  any- 
one that  would  tell  me  Marian  's  safe,"  Bud  cried  un- 
guardedly in  his  misery.  Whereat  Jerry  and  Ed 
looked  at  each  other  queerly. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY 
"  Pick  Your  Footing  !  '* 

The  three  sat  irresolutely  on  their  horses  at  the 
tunnel's  end  of  the  Gap,  staring  out  over  the  valley 
of  the  Redwater  and  at  the  mountains  beyond.  Bud's 
face  was  haggard  and  the  lines  of  his  mouth  were  hard. 
It  was  so  vast  a  country  in  which  to  look  for  one 
little  woman  who  had  not  gone  back  to  see  Jerry's 
signal ! 

"  I  '11  bet  yuh  Sis  cleared  out,"  Eddie  blurted,  look- 
ing at  Bud  eagerly,  as  if  he  had  been  searching  for 
some  comforting  word.  "  Sis  has  got  lots  of  sand. 
She  used  to  call  me  a  'fraid  cat  all  the  time  when  I 
did  n't  want  to  go  where  she  did.  I  '11  bet  she  just 
took  Boise  and  run  off  with  him.  She  would,  if  she 
made  up  her  mind  —  and  I  guess  she  'd  had  about  as 
much  as  she  could  stand,  cookin'  at  Little  Lost  —  " 

Bud  lifted  his  head  and  looked  at  Eddie  like  a  man 
newly  awakened.  **  I  gave  her  money  to  take  home 
for  me,  to  my  mother,  down  Laramie  way.  I  begged 
her  to  go  if  she  was  liable  to  be  in  trouble  over 
leaving  the  ranch.  But  she  said  she  would  n't  go 
—  not  unless  she  was  missed.  She  knew  I  'd  come 
back  to  the  ranch.  I  just  piled  her  hands  full  of  bills 
in  the  dark  and  told  her  to  use  them  if  she  had  to —  " 

"  She  might  have  done  it,"  Jerry  hazarded  hope- 


2  26  Cow-Country 

fully.  "  Maybe  she  did  sneak  in  some  other  way  and! 
get  her  things.  She  'd  have  to  take  some  clothes  along. 
Women  folks  always  have  to  pack.  By  gosh,  she 
could  hide  Boise  out  somewhere  and  —  " 

For  a  young  man  in  danger  of  being  lynched  by  his 
boss  for  horse  stealing  and  waylaid  and  robbed  by  a 
gang  notorious  in  the  country,  Bud's  appetite  for  risk 
seemed  insatiable  that  morning.  For  he  added  the 
extreme  possibility  of  breaking  his  neck  by  reckless 
riding  in  the  next  hour. 

He  swung  Sunfish  about  and  jabbed  him  with  the 
spurs,  ducking  into  the  gloom  of  the  Gap  as  if  the 
two  who  rode  behind  were  assassins  on  his  trail.  Once 
he  spoke,  and  that  was  to  Sunfish.  His  tone  was 
savage. 

"  Damn  your  lazy  hide,  you  Ve  been  through  here 
twice  and  you  Ve  got  daylight  to  help  —  now  pick  up 
your  feet  and  travel !  " 

Sunfish  travelled;  and  the  pace  he  set  sent  even 
Jerry  gasping  now  and  then  when  he  came  to  the 
worst  places,  with  the  sound  of  galloping  hoofs  in  the 
distance  before  him,  and  Eddie  coming  along  behind 
and  lifting  his  voice  warningly  now  and  then.  Even 
the  Catrockers  had  held  the  Gap  in  respect,  and  had 
ridden  its  devious  trail  cautiously.  But  caution  was 
a  meaningless  word  to  Bud  just  then  while  a  small 
flame  of  hope  burned  steadily  before  him. 

The  last  turn,  where  on  the  first  trip  Sunfish  lost 
Boise  and  balked  for  a  minute,  he  made  so  fast  that 
Sunfish  left  a  patch  of  yellowish  hair  on  a  pointed 
rock  and  came  into  the  open  snorting  fire  of  wrath. 
He  went  over  the  rough  ground  like  a  bouncing  ante- 
lope, simply  because  he  was  too  mad  to  care  how 


"Pick   Your   Footing!"      227 

many  legs  he  broke.  At  the  peak  of  rocks  he  showed 
an  inclination  to  stop,  and  Bud,  who  had  been  thinking 
and  planning  while  he  hoped,  pulled  him  to  a  stand  and 
waited  for  the  others  to  come  up.  They  could  not  go 
nearer  the  corrals  without  incurring  the  danger  of 
being  overheard,  and  that  must  not  happen. 

"  You  damn  fool,"  gritted  Jerry  when  he  came  up 
with  Bud.  "If  I  'd  knowed  you  wanted  to  commit 
suicide  I  'd  a  caved  your  head  in  with  a  rock  and 
saved  myself  the  craziest  ride  I  ever  took  in  m'  life!  " 

"  Oh,  shut  up !  "  Bud  snapped  impatiently.  "  We  're 
here,  are  n't  we  ?  Now  listen  to  me,  boys.  You  catch 
up  my  horses  —  Jerry,  are  you  coming  along  with  me  ? 
You  may  as  well.  I  'm  a  deputy  sheriff,  and  if  any- 
body stops  you  for  whatever  you  've  done,  I  '11  show 
a  warrant  for  your  arrest.  And  by  thunder,"  he  de- 
clared with  a  faint  grin,  "  I  '11  serve  it  if  I  have  to 
to  keep  you  with  me.  I  don't  know  what  you  've  done, 
and  I  don't  care.  I  want  you.  So  catch  up  my  horses 
—  and  Jerry,  you  can  pack  my  war-bag  and  roll  your 
bed  and  mine,  if  I  'm  too  busy  while  I  'm  here." 

"  You  're  liable  to  be  busy,  all  right,"  Jerry  inter- 
polated grimly. 

"  Well,  they  won't  bother  you.  Ed,  you  better  get 
the  horses.  Take  Sunfish,  here,  and  graze  him  some- 
where outa  sight.  We  '11  keep  going,  and  we  might 
have  to  start  suddenly." 

"  How  about  Sis  ?    I  thought  —  " 

"  I  'm  going  to  turn  Little  Lost  upside  down  to  find 
her,  if  she  's  here.  If  she  is  n't,  I  'm  kinda  hoping  she 
went  down  to  mother.  She  said  there  was  no  other 
place  where  she  could  go.  And  she  'd  feel  that  she 
had  to  deliver  the  money,  perhaps  —  because  I  must 


228  Cow-Country 

have  given  her  a  couple  of  thousand  dollars.  It  v^as^] 
quite  a  roll,  mostly  in  fifties  and  hundreds,  and  I  'n  i 
short  that  much.  I  'm  just  gambhng  that  the  size  oif 
it  made  her  feel  she  must  go." 

"That'd  be  Sis  all  over,  Mr.  Birnie."  Eddie- 
glanced  around  him  uneasily.  The  sun  was  shining 
level  in  his  eyes,  and  sunlight  to  Eddie  had  long  meant 
danger.  "  I  guess  we  better  hurry,  then.  I  '11  get 
the  horses  down  outa  sight,  and  come  back  here  afoot 
and  wait." 

"  Do  that,  kid,"  said  Bud,  slipping  wearily  off  Sun- 
fish.  He  gave  the  reins  into  Eddie's  hand,  motioned^ 
Jerry  with  his  head  to  follow,  and  hurried  down  the 
winding  path  to  the  corrals.  The  cool  brilliance  of  the 
morning,  the  cheerful  warbling  of  little,  wild  canaries 
in  the  bushes  as  he  passed,  for  once  failed  to  thrill  him 
with  joy  of  life.  He  was  wondering  whether  to  go 
straight  to  the  house  and  search  it  if  necessary  to 
make  sure  that  she  had  not  been  there,  or  whether 
Indian  cunning  would  serve  him  best.  His  whole 
being  ached  for  direct  action;  his  heart  trembled  with 
fear  lest  he  should  jeopardize  Marian's  safety  by  his 
own  impetuous  haste  to  help  her. 

Pop,  coming  from  the  stable  just  as  Bud  was  cross- 
ing the  corral,  settled  the  question  for  him.  Pop 
peered  at  him  sharply,  put  a  hand  to  the  small  of  his 
back  and  came  stepping  briskly  toward  him,  his  jaw 
working  like  a  sheep  eating  hay. 

"  Afoot,  air  ye?  "  he  exclaimed  curiously.  "  What- 
fer  idea  yuh  got  in  yore  head  now,  young  feller? 
Comin'  back  here  afoot  when  ye  rid  two  fast  horses 
off?  Needn't  be  afraid  of  ole  Pop  —  not  unless  yuh 
lie  to  'im  and  try  to  git  somethin'  fur  no  thin'.     Made 


"Pick   Your   Footing!"      229 

off  with  Lew's  wife,  too,  didn't  ye?  Oh,  there  ain't 
much  gits  past  ole  Pop,  even  if  he  ain't  the  man  he 
used  to  be.  I  seen  yuh  lookin'  at  her  when  yuh  oughta 
been  eatin'.  I  seen  yuh !  An'  her  watchin'  you  when 
she  thought  nobuddy  'd  ketch  her  at  it !  Sho !  Shucks 
a'mighty !  You  been  playin'  hell  all  around,  now,  ain't 
ye  ?  Need  n't  lie  —  I  know  what  my  own  eyes  tells 
me!" 

"  You  know  a  lot,  then,  that  I  wish  I  knew.  I  Ve 
been  in  Crater  all  the  time,  Pop.  Did  you  know  Lew 
was  mixed  up  in  a  bank  robbery  yesterday,  and  the 
cashier  of  the  bank  shot  him?  The  rest  of  the  gang  is 
dead  or  in  jail.  The  sheriff  did  some  good  work  there 
for  a  few  minutes." 

Pop  pinched  in  his  lips  and  stared  at  Bud  unwink- 
ingly  for  a  minute.  "  Don't  lie  to  me,"  he  warned 
petulantly.  "Went  to  Crater,  did  ye?  Cashed  them 
checks,  I  expect/' 

Bud  pulled  his  mouth  into  a  rueful  grin.  "  Yes, 
Pop,  I  cashed  the  checks,  all  right  —  and  here  's  what 's 
left  of  the  money.  I  guess,"  he  went  on  while  he 
pulled  out  a  small  roll  of  bills  and  licked  his  finger 
preparatory  to  counting  them,  "  I  might  better  have 
stuck  to  running  my  horses.  Poker  's  sure  a  fright. 
The  way  it  can  eat  into  a  man's  pocket  —  " 

"  Went  and  lost  all  that  money  on  poker,  did  ye?  " 
Pop's  voice  was  shrill.  "  After  me  tellin'  yuh  how  to 
git  it  —  and  showin'  yuh  how  yuh  could  beat  Boise 
—  "  the  old  man's  rage  choked  him.  He  thrust  his 
face  close  to  Bud's  and  glared  venomously. 

"  Yes,  and  just  to  show  you  I  appreciate  it,  I  'm 
going  to  give  you  what 's  left  after  I  've  counted  off 
enough  to  see  me  through  to  Spokane.     I  feel  sick, 


230  Cow-Country 

Pop.  I  want  change  of  air.  And  as  for  riding  two 
fast  horses  to  Crater  —  "he  paused  while  he  counted 
slowly,  Pop  licking  his  lips  avidly  as  he  watched, 
"  —  why  I  don't  know  what  you  mean.  I  only  ride 
one  horse  at  a  time,  Pop,  when  I  'm  sober.  And  I 
was  sober  till  I  hit  Crater." 

He  stopped  counting  when  he  reached  fifty  dollars, 
and  gave  the  rest  to  Pop,  who  thumbed  the  bank  notes 
in  a  frenzy  of  greed  until  he  saw  that  he  had  two  hun- 
dred dollars  in  his  possession.  The  glee  which  he  tried 
to  hide,  the  crafty  suspicion  that  this  was  not  all  of  it, 
the  returning  conviction  that  Bud  was  actually  almost 
penniless,  and  the  cunning  assumption  of  senility,  was 
pictured  in  his  face.  Pop's  poor,  miserly  soul  was  for 
a  minute  shamelessly  revealed.  Distraught  though  he 
was.  Bud  stared  and  shuddered  a  little  at  the  spectacle. 

"  I  always  said  't  you  're  a  good,  honest,  well-mean- 
ing boy,"  Pop  cackled,  slyly  putting  the  money  out 
of  sight  while  he  patted  Bud  on  the  shoulder.  "  Dave, 
he  thought  mebby  you  took  and  stole  Boise  —  and  if  I 
was  you.  Bud,  I  'd  git  to  Spokane  quick  as  I  could, 
and  not  let  Dave  ketch  ye.  Dave  's  out  now  lookin' 
for  ye.  If  he  suspicioned  you  'd  have  the  gall  to  come 
right  back  to  Little  Lost,  I  expect  mebby  he  'd  string 
yuh  up,  young  feller.  Dave  's  got  a  nasty  temper  — 
he  has  so !  " 

"  There 's  something  else.  Pop,  that  I  don't  like 
very  well  to  be  accused  of.  You  say  Mrs.  Morris  is 
gone.  I  don't  know  a  thing  about  that,  or  about  the 
horse  being  gone.  I  've  been  in  Crater.  I  'd  just  got 
my  money  out  of  the  bank  when  it  was  held  up,  and 
Lew  was  shot." 

Pop  teetered  and  gummed  his  tobacco  and  grinned 


"Pick  Your   Footing!"      231 

f oxily.  "  Shucks !  /  don't  care  nothin'  about  Lew's 
wife  goin',  ner  I  don't  care  nothin'  much  about  the 
horse.  They  ain't  no  fun-ral  uk  mine,  Bud.  Dave 
an'  Lew,  let  'em  look  after  their  own  belongin's." 

"  They  '11  have  to,  far  as  I  'm  concerned,"  said  Bud. 
"  What  would  I  want  of  a  horse  I  can  beat  any  time 
I  want  to  run  mine  ?  Dave  must  think  I  'm  scared  to 
ride  fast,  since  Sunday !  And  Pop,  I  've  got  troubles 
enough  without  having  a  woman  on  my  hands.  Are 
you  sure  Marian  's  gone?  " 

"  Sure?  ''  Pop  snorted.  "  Honey,  she  's  had  to  do 
the  cookin'  for  me  an'  Jerry  —  and  if  I  ain't  sure  —  " 

Bud  did  not  wait  to  hear  him  out.  There  was 
Honey,  whom  he  would  very  much  like  to  avoid  meet- 
ing; so  the  sooner  he  made  certain  of  Marian's  delib- 
erate flight  the  better,  since  Honey  was  not  an  early 
riser.  He  went  to  the  house  and  entered  by  way  of 
the  kitchen,  feeling  perfectly  sure  all  the  while  that 
Pop  was  watching  him.  The  disorder  there  was  suf- 
ficiently convincing  that  Marian  was  gone,  so  he  tip- 
toed across  the  room  to  a  door  through  which  he  had 
never  seen  any  one  pass  save  Lew  and  Marian. 

It  was  her  bedroom,  meagrely  furnished,  but  in 
perfect  order.  On  the  goods-box  dresser  with  a  wavy- 
glassed  mirror  above  it,  her  hair  brush,  comb  and  a 
few  cheap  toilet  necessities  lay,  with  the  comb  across 
a  nail  file  as  if  she  had  put  it  down  hurriedly  before 
going  out  to  serve  supper  to  the  men.  Marian,  then, 
had  not  stolen  home  to  pack  things  for  the  journey,  as 
Jerry  had  declared  a  woman  would  do.  Bud  sent  a 
lingering  glance  around  the  room  and  closed  the  door. 
Hope  was  still  with  him,  but  it  was  darkened  now 
with  doubts. 


232  Cow-Country 

In  the  kitchen  again  he  hesitated,  wanting  his  guitar- 
and  mandoHn  and  yet  aware  of  the  fooHshness  of  bur- 
dening himself  with  them  now.  Food  was  a  different 
matter,  however.  Dave  owed  him  for  more  than  three 
weeks  of  hard  work  in  the  hay  field,  so  Bud  collected 
from  the  pantry  as  much  as  he  could  carry,  and  left 
the  house  like  a  burglar. 

Pop  was  fiddling  with  the  mower  that  stood  in  front 
of  the  machine  shed,  plainly  waiting  for  whatever 
might  transpire.  And  since  the  bunk-house  door  was 
in  plain  view  and  not  so  far  away  as  Bud  wished  it, 
he  went  boldly  over  to  the  old  man,  carrying  his  plun- 
der on  his  shoulder. 

"  Dave  owes  me  for  work.  Pop,  so  I  took  what 
grub  I  needed,"  he  explained  with  elaborate  candor. 
"  I  '11  show  you  what  I  Ve  got,  so  you  '11  know  I  'm 
not  taking  anything  that  I  've  no  right  to."  He  set 
down  the  sack,  opened  it  and  looked  up  into  what 
appeared  to  be  the  largest-muzzled  six-shooter  he  had 
ever  seen  in  his  life.  Sheer  astonishment  held  him 
there  gaping,  half  stooped  over  the  sack. 

**  No  ye  don't,  young  feller !  "  Pop  snarled  vindic- 
tively. "  Yuh  think  I  'd  let  a  horse  thief  git  ofT  'n 
this  ranch  whilst  I  'm  able  to  pull  a  trigger  ?  You  fork 
over  that  money  you  got  on  ye,  first  thing  yuh  do! 
It 's  mine  by  rights  —  I  told  yuh  I  'd  help  ye  to  win 
money  off  'n  the  valley  crowd,  and  I  done  it.  An' 
what  does  you  do?  Never  pay  a  mite  of  attention  to 
me  after  I  'd  give  ye  all  the  inside  workin's  of  the 
game  —  never  offer  to  give  me  my  share  —  no,  by 
Christmas,  you  go  steal  a  horse  of  my  son's  and  hide 
him  out  somewheres,  and  go  lose  mighty  near  all  I 
helped  yuh  win,  playin'  poker !     Think  I  'm  goin'  to 


"Pick   Your   Footing!"      233 

stand  for  that?  Think  two  hundred  dollars  is  goin' 
to  even  things  up  when  I  helped  ye  to  win  a  fortune? 
Hand  over  that  fifty  you  got  on  yuh !  " 

Very  meekly,  his  face  blank,  Bud  reached  into  his 
pocket  and  got  the  money.  Without  a  word  he  pulled 
two  or  three  dollars  in  silver  from  his  trousers  pockets 
and  added  that  to  the  lot.  "  Now  what?  "  he  wanted 
to  know. 

"  Now  you  '11  wait  till  Dave  gits  here  to  hang  yuh 
f er  horse-stealing !  "  shrilled  Pop.  "  Jerry !  Oh, 
Jerry !  Where  be  yuh  ?  I  got  'im,  by  Christmas  —  I 
got  the  horse  thief  —  caught  him  carry  in'  good  grub 
right  outa  the  house !  " 

"  Look  out,  Jerry ! "  called  Bud,  glancing  quickly 
toward  the  bunk-house. 

Now,  Pop  had  without  doubt  been  a  man  difficult 
to  trick  in  his  youth,  but  he  was  old,  and  he  was  ex- 
cited, tickled  over  his  easy  triumph.  He  turned  to  see 
what  was  wrong  with  Jerry. 

"  Look  out,  Pop,  you  old  fool,  you  '11  bust  a  blood- 
vessel if  you  don't  quiet  down,"  Bud  censured  mock- 
ingly, wresting  the  gun  from  the  clawing,  struggling 
old  man  in  his  arms.  He  was  surprised  at  the  strength 
and  agility  of  Pop,  and  though  he  was  forcing  him 
backward  step  by  step  into  the  machine  shed,  and 
knew  that  he  was  master  of  the  situation,  he  had  his 
hands  full. 

"  Wildcats  is  nothing  to  Pop  when  he  gets  riled," 
Jerry  grinned,  coming  up  on  the  run.  "  I  kinda  ex- 
pected something  like  this.  What  yuh  want  done  with 
him,  Bud?" 

"  Gag  him  so  he  can't  holler  his  head  off,  and  then 
take  him  along  —  when  I  've  got  my  money  back," 


2  34  Cow-Country  m 

Bud  panted.     "  Pop,  you  're  about  as  appreciative  a&s 
a  buck  Injun." 

"  Going  to  be  hard  to  pack  him  so  he  '11  ride,"  Jerr^ 
observed  quizzically  when  Pop,  bound  and  gagged, 
lay  glaring  at  them  behind  the  bunk-house.  "  He  don't 
quite  balance  your  two  grips,  Bud.  And  we  do  need 
that  grub." 

"You  bring  the  grub  —  I'll  take  Pop  —  "  Budi 
stopped  in  the  act  of  lifting  the  old  man  and  listened. 
Honey's  voice  was  calling  Pop,  with  embellishments 
which  Bud  would  never  have  believed  a  part  of 
Honey's  vocabulary.  From  her  speech,  she  was  com- 
ing after  him,  and  Pop's  jaws  worked  frantically  be- 
hind Bud's  handkerchief. 

Jerry  tilted  his  head  toward  the  luggage  he  had 
made  a  second  trip  for,  picked  up  Pop,  clamped  his 
hand  over  the  mouth  that  was  trying  to  betray  them, 
and  slipped  away  through  the  brush,  glancing  once  over 
his  shoulder  to  make  sure  that  Bud  was  following 
him. 

They  reached  the  safe  screen  of  branches  and 
stopped  there  for  a  minute,  listening  to  Honey's  vitu- 
perations and  her  threats  of  what  she  would  do  to  Pop 
if  he  did  not  come  up  and  start  a  fire. 

She  stopped,  and  hoof  beats  sounded  from  the  main 
road.     Dave  and  his  men  were  coming. 

In  his  heart  Bud  thanked  Little  Lost  for  that  hidden 
path  through  the  bushes.  He  heard  Dave  asking 
Honey  what  was  the  matter  with  her,  heard  the  un- 
womanly reply  of  the  girl,  heard  her  curse  Pop  for 
his  neglect  of  the  kitchen  stove  at  that  hour  of  the 
morning.  Heard,  too,  her  questioning  of  Dave.  Had 
they  found  Bud,  or  Marian? 


"Pick  Your   Footing!'*      235 

*'  If  you  got  'em  together,  and  did  n't  string  'em 
both  up  to  the  nearest  tree  —  " 

Bud  bit  his  lip  and  went  on,  his  face  aflame  with 
rage  at  the  brutishness  of  a  girl  he  had  half  respected. 
"  Honey !  "  he  whispered  contemptuously.  "  What  a 
name  for  that  little  beast !  " 

At  the  rocks  Eddie  was  waiting  with  Stopper,  upon 
whom  they  hurriedly  packed  the  beds  and  Bud's  lug- 
gage. They  spoke  in  whispers  when  they  spoke  at 
all,  and  to  insure  the  horse's  remaining  quiet  Eddie 
had  tied  a  cotton  rope  snugly  around  its  muzzle. 

"  I  '11  take  Pop,"  Bud  whispered,  but  Jerry  shook 
his  head  and  once  more  shouldered  the  old  fellow  as 
he  would  carry  a  bag  of  grain.  So  they  slipped  back 
down  the  trail,  took  a  turn  which  Bud  did  not  know, 
and  presently  Bud  found  that  Jerry  was  keeping 
straight  on.  Bud  made  an  Indian  sign  on  the  chance 
that  Jerry  would  understand  it,  and  with  his  free 
hand  Jerry  replied.  He  was  taking  Pop  somewhere. 
They  were  to  wait  for  him  when  they  had  reached  the 
horses.     So  they  separated  for  a  space. 

"  This  is  sure  a  great  country  for  hideouts,  Mr. 
Birnie,"  Eddie  ventured  when  they  had  put  half  a 
mile  between  themselves  and  Little  Lost,  and  had 
come  upon  Smoky,  Sunfish  and  Eddie's  horse  feeding 
quietly  in  a  tiny,  spring-watered  basin  half  surrounded 
with  rocks.  "If  you  know  the  country  you  can  keep 
dodgin'  sheriffs  all  your  life  —  if  you  just  have  grub 
enough  to  last." 

"  Looks  to  me  as  if  there  are  n't  many  wasted  op- 
portunities here,"  Bud  answered  with  some  irony.  "  Is 
there  an  honest  man  in  the  whole  country,  Ed  ?  I  'd 
just  like  to  know." 


236  Cow-Country 

Eddie  hesitated,  his  eyes  anxiously  trying  to  read! 
Bud's  meaning  and  his  mood.    "  Not  right  around  the 
Sinks,  I  guess,"  he  replied  truthfully.    "  Up  at  Crater 
there  are  some,  and  over  to  Jumpoff .    But  I  guess  this 
valley  would  be  called  pretty  tough,  all  right.    It 's  so) 
full  of  caves  and  queer  places  it  kinda  attracts  the 
ones  that  want  to  hide  out."    Then  he  grinned.    "  It 's 
lucky  for  you  it 's  like  that,  Mr.  Birnie,  or  I  don't i 
see  how  you  'd  get  away.    Now  I  can  show  you  how 
to  get  clear  away  from  here  without  getting  caught. 
But  I  guess  we  ought  to  have  breakfast  first.     I  'm 
pretty  hungry.    Ain't  you?    I  can  build  a  fire  against: 
that  crack  in  the  ledge  over  there,  and  the  smoke  will 
go  away  back  underneath  so  it  won't  show.    There  's  a . 
t)low-hole  somewhere  that  draws  smoke  like  a  chimney." ' 

Jerry  came  after  a  little,  sniffing  bacon.  He  threw 
iiimself  down  beside  the  fire  and  drew  a  long  breath. 
*'  That  old  skunk 's  heavier  than  what  you  might 
think,"  he  observed  whimsically.  "  I  packed  him  down 
into  one  of  them  sink  holes  and  untied  his  feet  and  left 
him  to  scramble  out  best  way  he  can.  It  '11  take  him 
longer  *n  it  took  me.  Having  the  use  of  your  hands 
helps  quite  a  lot.  And  the  use  of  your  mouth  to 
cuss  a  little.  But  he  '11  make  it  in  an  hour  or  two  — 
I  'm  afraid."  He  looked  at  Bud,  a  half-shamed  ten- 
derness in  his  eyes.  "  It  sure  was  hard  to  leave  him 
like  I  did.  It  was  like  walking  on  your  toes  past  a 
rattler  curled  up  asleep  somewhere,  afraid  you  might 
spoil  his  nap.  Only  Pop  was  n't  asleep."  He  sat  up 
and  reached  his  hand  for  a  cup  of  coffee  which  Eddie 
was  offering.  "  Anyway,  I  had  the  fun  of  telling  the 
old  devil  what  I  thought  about  him,"  he  added,  and 
blew  away  the  steam  and  took  another  satisfying  nip. 


"Pick  Your   Footing  I'*      237 

"  He  '11  put  them  on  our  trail,  I  suppose,"  said  Bud, 
biting  into  a  ragged  piece  of  bread  with  a  half -burned 
slice  of  hot  bacon  on  it. 

"  When  he  gets  to  the  ranch  he  will.  His  poison 
fangs  was  sure  loaded  when  I  left.  He  said  he  wanted 
to  cut  your  heart  out  for  robbing  him,  and  so  forth, 
ad  swearum.    We  'd  best  not  leave  any  trail." 

"  We  ain't  going  to,"  Eddie  assured  him  eagerly. 
"  I  'm  glad  being  with  the  Catrockers  is  going  to  do 
some  good,  Mr.  Birnie.  It  '11  help  you  git  away,  and 
that  '11  help  find  Sis.  I  guess  she  hit  down  where  you 
live,  maybe.  How  far  can  your  horse  travel  to-day 
—  if  he  has  to?" 

Bud  looked  across  to  where  Sunfish,  having  rolled 
in  a  wet  spot  near  the  spring  and  muddied  himself  to 
his  satisfaction,  was  greedily  at  work  upon  a  patch 
of  grass.  "If  he  has  to,  till  he  drops  in  his  tracks. 
And  that  won't  be  for  many  a  mile,  kid.  He 's  thor- 
oughbred ;  a  thoroughbred  never  knows  when  to  quit." 

"  Well,  there  ain't  any  speedy  trail  ahead  of  us  to- 
day," Eddie  vouchsafed  cheeringly.  "  There 's  half 
a  mile  maybe  where  we  can  gallop,  and  the  rest  is  a 
case  of  picking  your  footing." 

"  Let 's  begin  picking  it,  then,"  said  Bud,  and  got  up, 
reaching  for  his  bridle. 

By  devious  ways  it  was  that  Eddie  led  them  out  of 
that  sinister  country  surrounding  the  Sinks.  In  the 
beginning  Bud  and  Jerry  exchanged  glances,  and 
looked  at  their  guns,  believing  that  it  would  be  through 
Catrock  Canyon  they  would  have  to  ride.  Eddie,  rid- 
ing soberly  in  the  lead,  had  yet  a  certain  youthful  sense 
of  his  importance.  "  They  '11  never  think  of  follow- 
ing yuh  this  way,  unless  old  Pop  Truman  gits  back  in 


238  Cow-Country 


time  to  tell  *em  I  'm  travelling  with  yuh/'  he  observed 
once  when  they  had  penetrated  beyond  the  neighbor- 
hood of  caves  and  blow-holes  and  were  riding  safely 
down  a  canyon  that  offered  few  chances  of  their  being' 
observed  save  from  the  front,  which  did  not  concerm 
them. 

"  I  guess  you  don't  know  old  Pop  is  about  the  ring— 
^'•^      leader  of  the  Catrockers.     Er  he  was,  till  he  began  to  1 
git  kinda  childish  about  hoarding  money,   and  them 
Dave  stepped  in.     And  Mr.  Birnie,  I  guess  you  'd  have 
been  dead  when  you  first  came  there,  if  it  had  n't  been 
that  Dave  and  Pop  wanted  to  give  you  a  chance  to  get 
a  lot  of  money  off  of  Jeff's  bunch.     Lew  was  telling 
how  you  kept  cleaning  up,  and  he  said  right  along  that 
they  was  taking  too  much  risk  having  you  around. 
Lew  said  he  bet  you  was  a  detective.     Are  you,  Mr. 
Birnie?" 

Bud  was  riding  with  his  shoulders  sagged  forward, 
his  thoughts  with  Marian  —  wherever  she  was.  He 
had  been  convinced  that  she  was  not  at  Little  Lost,  that 
she  had  started  for  Laramie.  But  now  that  he  was 
away  from  that  evil  spot  his  doubts  returned.  What 
if  she  were  still  in  the  neighborhood  —  what  if  they 
found  her?  Memory  of  Honey's  vindictiveness  made 
him  shiver,  Honey  was  the  kind  of  woman  who  would 
kill. 

"  I  am,  from  now  on,  kid,"  he  said  despondently. 
"  We  're  going  to  ride  till  we  find  your  sister.  And 
if  those  hell-hounds  got  her  —  " 

"  They  did  n't,  from  the  way  Honey  talked,"  Jerry 
comforted.  "  We  '11  find  her  at  Laramie,  don't  you 
ever  think  we  won't !  " 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-ONE 
Trails  End 

At  the  last  camp,  just  north  of  the  Platte,  Bud's 
two  black  sheep  balked.  Bud  himself,  worn  by  sleep- 
less nights  and  long  hours  in  the  saddle,  turned  furi-, 
ously  when  Jerry  announced  that  he  guessed  he  and 
Ed  would  n't  go  any  farther. 

"  Well,  damn  you  both  for  ungrateful  hounds ! '' 
grated  Bud,  hurt  to  the  quick.  "  I  hope  you  don't 
think  I  brought  you  this  far  to  help  hold  me  in  the 
saddle ;  I  made  it  north  alone,  without  any  mishap.  I 
think  I  could  have  come  back  all  right.  But  if  you 
want  to  quit  here,  all  right.  You  can  high-tail  it  back 
to  your  outlaws  —  " 

"  Well,  if  you  go  'n  put  it  that  way !  "  Jerry  expostu- 
lated, lifting  both  hands  high  in  the  air  in  a  vain  at- 
tempt to  pull  the  situation  toward  the  humorous. 
"  You  're  a  depity  sheriff,  and  you  got  the  drop."  He 
grinned,  saw  that  Bud's  eyes  were  still  hard  and  his 
mouth  unyielding,  and  lowered  his  hands,  looking' 
crestfallen  as  a  kicked  pup  that  had  tried  to  be  friendly. 

"  You  can  see  for  yourseli  we  ain't  fit  to  go  'n  meet 
your  mother  and  your  father  like  we  was  —  like  we  'd 
went  straight,"  Eddie  put  in  explanatorily.  "  You  've 
been  raised  good,  and  —  say,  it  makes  a  man  want  to 


240  Cow-Country 

he  good  to  see  how  a  feller  don't  have  to  be  no  preacheftj 
to  live  right.     But  it  don't  seem  square  to  let  you  take  I 
us  right  home  with  you,  just  because  you  're  so  darned  ' 
kind  you  'd  do  it  and  never  think  a  thing  about  it.    We 
ain't  ungrateful  —  I  know  /  ain't.     But  —  but  —  " 

"  The  kid's  said  it,  Bud,"  Jerry  came  to  the  rescue. 
*'  We  come  along  because  it  was  a  ticklish  trip  you  had 
ahead.  And  I  've  knowed  as  good  riders  as  you  are, 
that  could  stand  a  little  holding  in  the  saddle  when  some 
freak  had  tried  to  shoot  'em  out  of  it.  But  you  're 
close  to  home  now  and  you  don't  need  us  no  more,  and 
so  we  ain't  going  to  horn  in  on  the  prodigal  calf's  milk- 
bucket.     Marian,  she  's  likely  there  —  " 

"  If  Sis  ain't  with  your  folks  we  '11  hunt  her  up," 
Eddie  interrupted  eagerly.  "  Sis  is  your  kind  —  she 
—  she  's  good  enough  for  yuh,  Bud,  and  I  hope  she  — 
if  she  's  got  any  sense  she  '11  —  well,  if  it  comes  to  the 
marrying  point,  I  —  well,  dam  it,  I  'd  like  to  see  Sis 
git  as  good  a  man  as  you  are !  "  Eddie,  having  blun- 
dered that  far,  went  headlong  as  if  he  were  afraid  to 
stop.  "  Sis  is  educated,  and  she 's  an  awful  good 
singer  and  a  fine  girl,  only  I  'm  her  brother.  But  I  'm 
going  to  live  honest  from  now  on,  Bud,  and  I  hope  you 
won't  hold  off  on  account  of  me.  I  ain't  going  to  have 
Sis  feel  like  cry  in'  when  she  thinks  about  me !  You  — 
you  —  said  something  that  hurt  like  a  knife,  Bud,  when 
you  told  me  that,  up  in  Crater.  And  she  was  n't  to 
l)lame  for  marryin'  Lew  —  and  she  done  that  outa 
goodness,  the  kind  you  showed  to  Jerry  and  me.  And 
-we  don't  want  to  go  spoilin'  everything  by  letting  your 
folks  see  what  you  're  bringin'  home  with  yuh !  And  it 
might  hurt  Sis  with  your  folks,  if  they  found  out  that 

m  — 


Trails  End  241 

Bud  had  been  standing  by  his  horse,  looking  from 
one  to  the  other,  Hstening,  watching  their  faces,  meas- 
uring the  full  depth  of  their  manhood.  "  Say !  you 
remind  me  of  a  story  the  folks  tell  on  me,"  he  said„ 
his  eyes  shining,  while  his  voice  strove  to  make  light 
of  it  all.  "  Once,  when  I  was  a  kid  in  pin!:  aprons,  I 
got  lost  from  the  trail-herd  my  folks  were  bringing  up 
from  Texas.  It  was  comin'  dark,  and  they  had  the 
whole  outfit  out  hunting  me,  and  everybody  scared  to 
death.  When  they  were  all  about  crazy,  they  claim  I 
carhe  walking  Up  to  the  camp-fire  dragging  a  dead  snake 
by  the  tail,  and  carrying  a  horn  toad  in  my  shirt,  and 
claiming  they  were  mine  because  I  '  ketched  'em.' 
I  'm  not  branding  that  yam  with  any  moral  —  but 
figure  it  out  for  yourself,  boys." 

The  two  looked  at  each  other  and  grinned.  "  I  ain't 
dead  yet,"  Eddie  made  sheepish  comment.  "  Mebbe 
you  kinda  look  on  me  as  being  a  horn  toad.  Bud." 

"  When  you  bear  in  mind  that  my  folks  raised  that 
kid,  you  '11  realize  that  it  takes  a  good  deal  to  stampede 
mother."  Bud  swung  into  the  saddle  to  avoid  sub- 
jecting his  emotions  to  the  cramped,  inadequate  limita- 
tions of  speech.  "  Let 's  go,  boys.  She  's  a  long  trail 
to  take  the  kinks  out  of  before  supper-time." 

They  stood  still,  making  no  move  to  follow.  Bud 
reined  Smoky  around  so  that  he  faced  them,  reached 
laboriously  into  that  mysterious  pocket  of  a  cow- 
puncher's  trousers  which  is  always  held  closed  by  the 
belt  of  his  chaps,  and  which  invariably  holds  in  its 
depths  the  things  he  wants  in  a  hurry.  They  watched 
him  curiously,  resolutely  refusing  to  interpret  his  bit 
of  autobiography,  wondering  perhaps  why  he  did  not 
go. 


242  Cow-Country 


*'Here  she  is."  Bud  had  disinterred  the  deputy- 
sheriff's  badge,  and  began  to  polish  it  by  the  primitive 
but  effectual  method  of  spitting  on  it  and  then  rubbing: 
it  vigorously  on  his  sleeve.  "  You  're  outside  of  Crater 
County,  but  by  thunder  you  're  both  guilty  of  resisting 
an  officer,  and  county  lines  don't  count!"  He  had 
pinned  the  badge  at  random  on  his  coat  while  he  was 
speaking,  and  now,  before  the  two  realized  what  he  was 
about,  he  had  his  six-shooter  out  and  aimed  straight 
at  them. 

Bud  had  never  lived  in  fear  of  the  law.  Instantly 
he  was  sorry  when  he  saw  the  involuntary  stiffening  of 
their  muscles,  the  ^uick  wordless  suspicion  and  defiance 
that  sent  their  eyes  in  shifty  glances  to  right  and  left 
before  their  hands  lifted  a  little.  Trust  him,  love  him 
as  they  might,  there  was  that  latent  fear  of  capture 
driven  deep  into  their  souls;  so  deep  that  even  he  had 
not  erased  it.  j 

Bud  saw  —  and  so  he  laughed.  1 

"  I  've  got  to  show  my  folks  that  I  Ve  made  a  gath- 
ering," he  said.  "  You  can't  quit,  boys.  And  I  'm  go- 
ing to  take  you  to  the  end  of  the  trail,  now  you  've 
started."  He  eyed  them,  saw  that  they  were  still  stub- 
born, and  drew  in  his  breath  sharply,  manfully  meeting 
the  question  in  their  minds. 

"  We  've  left  more  at  the  Sinks  than  the  gnashing  of 
teeth,"  he  said  whimsically.  "  A  couple  of  bad  names, 
for  instance.  You  're  two  bully  good  friends  of  mine, 
and  —  damn  it,  Marian  will  want  to  see  both  of  you 
fellows,  if  she's  there.  H  she  isn't  —  we'll  maybe 
have  a  big  circle  to  ride,  finding  her.  I  '11  need  you,  no 
matter  what 's  ahead."  He  looked  from  one  to  the 
other,  gave  a  snort  and  added  impatiently,  "  Aw,  fork 


Trails   End  243 

your  horses  and  don't  stand  there  looking  like  a  couple 
of  damn  fools !  " 

Whereupon  Jerry  shook  his  head  dissentingly, 
grinned  and  gave  Eddie  so  emphatic  an  impulse  toward 
his  horse  that  the  kid  went  sprawling. 

"  Guess  we  're  up  against  it,  all  right  —  but  I  do  wish 
you  'd  lose  that  badge !  "  Jerry  surrendered,  and 
flipped  the  bridle  reins  over  the  neck  of  his  horse. 
"  Horn  toad  is  right,  the  way  you  're  scabbling  around 
amongst  them  rocks,"  he  called  light-heartedly  to  the 
kid.     "  Ever  see  a  purtier  sunrise?     I  never!  " 

I  don't  know  what  they  thought  of  the  sunset. 
Gorgeous  it  was,  with  many  soft  colors  blended  into 
unnamable  tints  and  translucencies,  and  the  songs  of 
birds  in  the  thickets  as  they  passed.  Smoky,  Sunfish  and 
Stopper  walked  briskly,  ears  perked  forward,  heads 
up,  eyes  eager  to  catch  the  familiar  landmarks  that 
meant  home.  Bud's  head  was  up,  also,  his  eyes  went 
here  and  there,  resting  with  a  careless  affection  on  those 
same  landmarks  which  spelled  home.  He  would  have 
let  Smoky's  reins  have  a'  bit  more  slack  and  would  have 
led  his  little  convoy  to  the  corrals  at  a  gallop,  had  not 
hope  begun  to  tremble  and  shrink  from  meeting  cer- 
tainty face  to  face.  Had  you  asked  him  then,  I  think 
Bud  would  have  owned  himself  a  coward.  Until  he 
had  speech  with  home-folk  he  would  merely  be  hoping 
that  Marian  was  there;  but  until  he  had  speech  with 
them  he  need  not  hear  that  they  knew  nothing  of  her. 
Bud-like,  however,  he  tried  to  cover  his  trepidation  with 
a  joke. 

"  We  '11  sneak  up  on  *em,^'  he  said  to  Ed  and  Jerry 
when  the  roofs  of  house  and  stables  came  into  view. 


244  Cow-Country 

"  Here  *s  where  I  grew  up,  boys.  And  in  a  minute  or 
two  more  you  *11  see  the  greatest  Httle  mother  on  earth 
—  and  the  finest  dad/*  he  added,  swallowing  the  last 
of  his  Scotch  stubbornness. 

"  And  Sis,  I  hope,"  Eddie  said  wistfully.  "  I  sure 
hope  she  's  here." 

Neither  Jerry  nor  Bud  answered  him  at  all.  Smoky 
threw  up  his  head  suddenly  and  gave  a  shrill  whinny,, 
and  a  horse  at  the  corrals  answered  sonorously. 

"  Say!  That  sounds  to  me  like  Boise!  "  Eddie  ex- 
claimed, standing  up  in  his  stirrups  to  look. 

Bud  turned  pale,  then  flushed  hotly.  "  Don't  holler 
it !  "  he  muttered,  and  held  Smoky  back  a  little.  For 
just  one  reason  a  young  man's  heart  pounds  as  Bud's 
heart  pounded  then.  Jerry  looked  at  him,  took  a  deep 
breath  and  bit  his  lip  thoughtfully.  It  may  be  that 
Jerry's  heartbeats  were  not  quite  normal  just  then,  but 
no  one  would  ever  know. 

They  rode  slowly  to  a  point  near  the  corner  of  the 
stable,  and  there  Bud  halted  the  two  with  his  lifted 
hand.  Bud  was  trembling  a  little  —  but  he  was  smil- 
ing, too.  Eddie  was  frankly  grinning,  Jerry's  face  was 
the  face  of  a  good  poker-player  —  it  told  nothing. 

In  a  group  with  their  backs  to  them  stood  three: 
Marian,  Bud's  mother  and  his  father.  Bob  Birnie 
held  Boise  by  the  bridle,  and  the  two  women  were 
stroking  the  brown  nose  of  the  horse  that  moved  un- 
easily, with  little  impatient  head-tossings. 

"  He  does  n't  behave  like  a  horse  that  has  made  the 
long  trip  he  has  made,"  Bud's  mother  observed  admir- 
ingly. "  You  must  be  a  wonderful  little  horsewoman, 
my  dear,  as  well  as  a  wonderful  little  woman  in  every 
other  way.    Buddy  should  never  have  sent  you  on  such 


Trails   End  245 

a  trip  —  just  to  bring  home  money,  like  a  bank  mes- 
senger !  But  I  'm  glad  that  he  did !  And  I  do  wish 
you  would  consent  to  stay  —  such  an  afternoon  with 
music  I  have  n't  had  since  Buddy  left  us.  You  could 
stay  with  me  and  train  for  the  concert  work  you  intend 
doing.  I  'm  only  an  old  ranch  woman  in  a  slat  sim- 
bonnet  —  but  I  taught  my  Buddy  —  and  have  you 
heard  him  ?  " 

"  An  old  woman  in  a  slat  sunbonnet  —  oh,  how  can 

you  ?     Why,  you  're  the  most  wonderful  woman  in  the 

whole  world !  "     Marian's  voice  was  almost  tearful  in 

its  protest.      "  Yes  —  I  have  heard  —  your  Buddy. 

.But  —  " 

I  "  'T  is  the  strangest  way  to  go  about  selling  a  horse 
that  I  ever  saw,"  Bob  Birnie  put  in  dryly,  smoothing  his 
beard  while  he  looked  at  them.  "  We  'd  be  glad  to  have 
you  stay,  lass.  But  you  Ve  asked  me  to  place  a  price 
on  the  horse,  and  I  should  like  to  ask  ye  a  question  or 
two.     How  fast  did  ye  say  he  could  run  ?  " 

Marian  laid  an  arm  around  the  shoulders  of  the  old 
lady  in  a  slat  sunbonnet  and  patted  her  arm  while  she 
answered. 

"  Well,  he  beat  everything  in  the  country,  so  they  re- 
fused to  race  against  him,  until  Bud  came  with  his 
horses,"  she  replied.  "  It  took  Sunfish  to  outrun  him. 
He  's  terribly  fast,  Mr.  Birnie.  I  —  really,  I  think  he 
could  beat  the  world's  record  —  if  Bud  rode  him!  " 

Just  here  you  should  picture  Ed  and  Jerry  with  their 
hands  over  their  mouths,  and  Bud  wanting  to  hide  his 
face  with  his  hat. 

Bob  Bimie's  beard  behaved  oddly  for  a  minute,  while 
he  leaned  and  stroked  Boise's  flat  forelegs,  that  told  of 
speed.     "  Wee-11,"  he  hesitated,  soft-heartedness  bat- 


246  Cow-Country 

tling  with  the  horse-buyer's  keenness,  "since  Bud  isna. 
here  to  ride  him,  he  '11  make  a  good  horse  for  the  round- 
up. I  '11  give  ye  "  —  more  battling  —  "a  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars  for  him,  if  ye  care  to  sell  —  " 

"Here,  wait  a  minute  before  you  sell  to  that  old 
skinflint!"  Bud  shouted  exuberantly,  dismounting 
with  a  rush.  The  rush,  I  may  say,  carried  him  to  the 
little  old  lady  in  the  slat  sunbonnet,  and  to  that  other 
little  lady  who  was  staring  at  him  with  wide,  bright 
eyes.  Bud's  arms  went  around  his  mother.  Perhaps 
by  accident  he  gathered  in  Marian  also  —  they  were 
standing  very  close,  and  his  arms  were  very  long  — 
and  he  was  slow  to  discover  his  mistake. 

"  I  '11  give  you  two  hundred  for  Boise,  and  I  '11 
throw  in  one  brother,  and  one  long-legged,  good-for- 
nothing  cowpuncher  —  " 

"  Meaning  yourself.  Buddy?  "  came  teasingly  from 
the  slat  sunbonnet,  whose  occupant  had  not  been  told 
just  everything.  "  I  '11  be  surprised  if  she  '11  have  you, 
with  that  dirty  face  and  no  shave  for  a  week  and  more. 
But  if  she  does,  you  're  luckier  than  you  deserve,  for 
riding  up  on  us  like  this !  We  've  heard  all  about  you, 
Buddy  —  though  you  were  wise  to  send  this  lassie  to 
gild  your  faults  and  make  a  hero  of  you !  " 

Now,  you  want  to  know  how  Marian  managed  to 
live  through  that.  I  will  say  that  she  discovered  how 
tenaciously  a  young  man's  arms  may  cling  when  he 
thinks  he  is  embracing  merely  his  mother ;  but  she  freed 
herself  and  ran  to  Eddie,  fairly  pulled  him  off  his  horse, 
and  talked  very  fast  and  incoherently  to  him  and  Jerry, 
asking  question  after  question  without  waiting  for  a 
reply  to  any  of  them.  All  this,  I  suppose,  in  the  hope 
that  they  would  not  hear,  or,  hearing,  would  not  under- 


Trails   End  247 

stand  what  that  terrible,  wonderful  little  woman  was 
saying  so  innocently. 

But  you  cannot  faze  youth.  Eddie  had  important 
news  for  Sis,  and  he  felt  that  now  was  the  time  to  tell 
it  before  Marian  blushed  any  redder,  so  he  pulled  her 
face  up  to  his,  put  his  lips  so  close  to  her  ear  that  his 
breath  tickled,  and  whispered  —  without  any  preface 
whatever  that  she  could  marry  Bud  any  time  now,  be- 
-cause  she  was  a  widow. 

"  Here !  Somebody  —  Bud  —  quick !  Sis  has 
fainted !  Doggone  it,  I  only  told  her  Lew  's  dead  and 
she  can  marry  you  —  shucks !  I  thought  she  'd  be 
glad!" 

Down  on  the  Staked  Plains,  on  an  evening  much  like 
the  evening  when  Bud  came  home  with  his  "  stake  " 
and  his  hopes  and  two  black  sheep  who  were  becoming 
white  as  most  of  us,  a  camp-fire  began  to  crackle  and 
wave  smoke  ribbons  this  way  and  that  before  it  burned 
steadily  under  the  supper  pots  of  a  certain  hungry, 
happy  group  which  you  know. 

"  It 's  somewhere  about  here  that  I  got  lost  from 
camp  when  I  was  a  kid,*'  Bud  observed,  tilting  back  his 
hat  and  lifting  a  knee  to  snap  a  dry  stick  over  it. 
"  Mother  'd  know,  I  bet.  I  kinda  wish  we  'd  brought 
her  and  dad  along  with  us.  That 's  about  eighteen 
years  ago  they  trailed  a  herd  north  —  and  here  we  are, 
taking  our  trail-herd  north  on  the  same  trail !  I  kinda 
wish  now  I  'd  picked  up  a  bunch  of  yearling  heifers 
along  with  our  two-year-olds.  We  could  have  brought 
another  hundred  head  just  as  well  as  not.  They 
sure  drive  nice.  Mother  would  have  enjoyed  this 
trip." 


248  Cow-Country 

"  You  think  so,  do  you  ?  "  Marian  gave  him  a  sup< 
rior  little  smile  along  with  the  coffee-boiler.  "If 
you  'd  heard  her  talk  about  that  trip  north  when  there 
were  n't  any  men  around  listening,  you  'd  change  your 
mind.  Bud  Birnie,  you  are  the  simplest  creature! 
You  think,  because  a  woman  does  n't  make  a  fuss  over 
things,  she  does  n't  mind.  Your  mother  told  me  that 
trip  was  a  perfect  nightmare.  She  taught  you  music  just 
in  the  hope  that  you  'd  go  back  to  civilization  and 
live  there  where  there  are  some  modern  improvements, 
and  she  could  visit  you!  And  here  you  are  —  all 
wrapped  up  in  a  bunch  of  young  stock,  dirty  as 
a  pig  and  your  whiskers  —  ow!  Bud!  Stop  that 
immediately,  or  I'll  go  put  my  face  in  a  cactus  just 
for  relief!'' 

"  Maybe  you  're  dissatisfied  yourself  with  my  bunch 
of  cattle.  Maybe  you  did  n't  go  in  raptures  over  our 
claim  and  make  more  plans  in  a  day  than  four  men 
could  carry  out  in  a  year.  Maybe  you  wish  your  hus- 
band was  a  man  that  was  content  to  pound  piano  keys 
all  his  life  and  let  his  hair  grow  long  instead  of  his 
whiskers.  If  you  hate  this,  why  didn't  you  say  so, 
lady?" 

"  I  was  speaking,"  said  Marian  as  dignifiedly  as  was 
possible,  "  of  your  mother.  She  was  raised  in  civiliza- 
tion, and  she  has  simply  made  the  best  of  pioneering  all 
her  married  life.  I  was  born  and  raised  in  cow-country 
and  I  love  it.  As  I  said  before,  you  are  the  simplest 
creature !  Would  you  really  bring  a  father  and  mother 
on  a  honeymoon  trail  —  especially  when  the  bride 
did  n't  want  them,  and  they  would  much  rather  stay 
at  home?  " 

"  Hey !  "  cried  Eddie  disgustedly,  coming  up  from  a 


Trails   End  249 


;  shallow  creek  with  a  bucket  of  water  and  a  few  dry 
[  sticks.  "  The  coffee  's  upset  and  putting  the  fire  out! 
'  Gee  whiz !    Can't  you  folks  quit  love-makin'  and  tend 
to  business  long  enough  to  cook  a  meal  ?  " 


THE  END 


^' 


